


Concerning the world that is to come

by Lemmynate



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Agnes Nutter's Prophecies, Angst, Armageddon, Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Eradication, Eventual Smut, Flaming Sword, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Romance, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-07-08 16:22:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19872535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemmynate/pseuds/Lemmynate
Summary: It lasts exactly two weeks. Two weeks of thinking they averted the doom of earth together. And they had.But a new storm is yet to come, as Crowley predicted.Aziraphale and Crowley won't let earth and humanity fall. But they are both in danger - Heaven and Hell figured out how they evaded hellfire and holy water. And they are angry.A vision from a former Antichrist and some burnt prophecies are their only help to figure out a plan to avert "the real big one."And then there is the thing with the changing of Crowley's and Aziraphale's souls as they finally figure out what God had them destined to be: Lovers and wardens.





	1. A nice day

**Author's Note:**

> This project is a mixture of the TV series and the book. It is a project of my heart.
> 
> I would love to take you with me on the journey of a story full of admiration for Gaiman's and Pratchett's characters and the wonderful TV series I fell in love with. Also with Queen for obvious reasons.
> 
> I was and I am full of awe while writing this. Thank you Mr. Gaiman.

It was a nice day.

All days had been nice since one particular Saturday, the day the world didn't end. It had been two weeks of nice and comfortable weather, just warm enough to go out without a jacket, but not hot enough to make plants, humans, and animals suffer. The sun rose every day, shone its warmth on the people underneath, and it seemed that God Herself smiled proudly at Her creations and the way they could live their lives in their own chosen way.

It seemed that even She didn't know what kind of storm was coming towards them, but for all Crowley and Aziraphale knew:

Her plans had always been ineffable.

"Oh, unhappy memories with this, Crowley. It feels like a flashback."

Crowley smiled wickedly, not particularly in Aziraphales direction, because at the moment he was taking the strawberry ice cream and the vanilla cone from the ice trucks seller. He handed the red-coloured ice cream to his lover.

Aziraphale closed his eyes as he tasted the cold with his tongue. He smiled contently and relaxed. It was a nice day in St. James Park.

Crowley didn't really bother with edible matter, but he decided that this was an exception.

Just like dining at the Ritz. This situation was one of the many stations they spent their time together in the last eleven years. Eleven years which seemed to be the very last of years altogether. But they were not.  
It occurred to them rather simultaneously that they wanted to relish their effort and the ongoing rotation of the earth.

And Crowley relished. Oh, how he relished and cherished Aziraphale’s presence, the banter, the silent walks, the dining and watching of Aziraphale’s angelic contours and mimics. He savoured the memories of their body switch, the memory of actually _being_ Aziraphale, despite the consuming worry about his angel in Hell and his own derogatory treatment in Heaven.

Crowley listened to Aziraphale talking and chattering away, a little smile on his lips. It was the only reaction he shared with the rest of the world, but Aziraphale knew that behind the dark shades and the thin smile affection beamed like a supernova. They never talked about that nor the fact that they had been practically permanently together in the last two weeks.

It had just happened. And both knew that the other one knew what the other was thinking.

Aziraphale sighed and licked his ice cream as they strolled slowly along the walks. Grit crunched beneath their feet. Aziraphale’s steps were soft and rhythmic, almost hesitant, Crowleys were rather clumsy but heavier despite his more slender form.

Crowley watched his angel eat the ice cream, savouring the details: relaxing eye corners, stretching lips, fluttering lashes and a visible gulp as he swallowed endearingly. It was erotic in a kind of way, and Crowley cherished this side of the moment as in every occasion of watching Aziraphale simply _enjoying_. But he also enjoyed the warm blossom in his chest, the feeling of affection, the safety and calmness Aziraphale’s presence brought.

Aziraphale was his best friend, his opposite, his better half and his everything. It was just like that. There was no need for talking about it.

"It was your idea to revisit every place and situation of the last eleven years, if possible," Crowley answered and let his tongue wander on the human product in his right hand.

Aziraphale hummed.

"Yes of course! But this particular scene has a whole lot of mixed feelings, I'm afraid. I am fairly sure Death is just waiting to spawn in a flock of pigeons. And... you know."

He eyed the four pigeons on the grass to their right.

Crowley laughed lowly.

He unhinged his jaw for a moment and gulped his cone down in one bite. Aziraphale watched him incredulously.

"You are supposed to enjoy ice cream, my dear. It's a fine craft of cooled liquid and exceptional flavours, all mixed together in a homogenous, astonishing creation to be worth savouring."

Crowley flashed him a mischievous smile as an answer.

Aziraphale snorted.

"You're inveterate, my dear."

But he smiled, his eyes sparking with affection and joy. A smile he reserved only for Crowley. Nobody else would get this expression from Aziraphale, Crowley knew that.

Crowley let his eyes wander through the park. After a few moments of crunching steps he said:

"I am savouring, angel. I am savouring every creation and every moment with you."

He noticed Aziraphales wide stare in the corner of his eyes. He couldn't help but feel very warm and very nice. Not that he would ever admit that.

"Oh, quit staring at me like that, angel. Just eat your ice cream," he snapped, desperately trying to hide the rising goose bumps on his neck and head.

And Aziraphale, damned overwhelming Aziraphale, winked at him. He actually winked at him. Then he casually proceeded eating his ice cream

Crowley shuddered and skidded forward, hiding his neck in his collar.

Sometimes Crowley wondered if Aziraphale actually knew what he was doing to his poor demonic soul.

* * *

The smell of old paper and ink mixed with soil wavered through the bookshop. Ghostly sunrays cast their light onto the books and plants, touched them like loving fingers. It was a quiet scene for an outsider, but in its calmness, there was a storm of colours, whispered stories of humanity and preternaturalness, tornados of love, sadness, desperation, curiosity, happiness and pain.

Every costumer of Aziraphales bookshop experienced a glimpse of it as they entered the room. It was a welcoming silence. They incorporated it, bowed their head and listened. Some referred the atmosphere to a church. It had an angelic presence, they wrote on the internet.

They never knew how precise their assessment was, but that was the thing with humans. Humans had a wonderful instinctive soul, capable of the gifts of emotion and imagination. These two gifts formed one incomparable power: empathy. Humans could feel, could cherish, could help one another. And they could remember feelings, compare moments in their history, adapt them to new situations.

It was a fact that Aziraphale had always admired.

Despite this, the humans were wrong at the comparison of the bookshop with a church. As they were humans, they could not fully comprehend the depth of the dimensions in Aziraphale’s beloved shop. It had an angelic presence and the sensation of being watched by a maternal authority. It rose awe and ease in the hearts of its customers as well as the feeling of both infinity and caducity. Just like the books and plants which shared their space lovingly with each other on the shelves were destined to decay, so were the humans.

So was the bookshop eventually.

But never the sensation of awe and love.

Crowley stood in the silence, felt the depths of sensation wash through him. He felt it to the core of his soul. It was not a feeling anymore nor an emotion. It was a small line of existence and non-existence he experienced in these moments, both calming and torrential, healing and torturing.

Crowley could easily imagine that being in this state for too long, to let oneself go for too long, would drive every ethereal and occult being to insanity.

But sometimes it almost felt like a warm hand around the shape of his heart, a faint memory of the moment he got created by Her.

And this calmed him immensely.

But he knew when to stop, when to lock his mind inside his celestial body again and ground himself back to earth in the walls of a softly illuminated store.

Aziraphale watched Crowley at times like this. Sometimes far away from behind a bookshelf or the second floor while leaning hesitantly over the ceiling. Sometimes he was near him, seeing the demon shudder from his boots to his hair like he got struck by electricity. He saw Crowleys stilled index finger, barely touching a vibrant leaf or the golden letters of a book spine. He saw Crowleys face relax, his eyes wide open and his gaze lost in not traceable dimensions.

Sometimes Aziraphale was utterly close to his demon. Close enough to see his own faltering breath smooth the erected translucent hairs on Crowleys neck just beneath his hair line. Close enough to feel the radiating warmth of Crowleys body and the imploding power working inside Crowleys soul.

Aziraphale withstood the tugging urge of the power, shielded himself from it when Crowley was occupied with it.

It was a common practice for him now. He had found his peace and admiration for the force in his shop. But seeing Crowley, his Crowley, not only sharing the experience of this power with him but creating a unique approach and connection to it was more than Aziraphale could ever put into words.

It was a human equivalent of deep understanding; but with inhumanly dimensions, nameless and powerful.

Crowley knew when he had to stop. His awakening was ritualised. Aziraphale knew every part of it by memory. The angel would back away when he was standing too close to Crowley or he came nearer when he was too far away.

Right now, he took a few steps towards him, holding cold tea in his hands, mind occupied with watching Crowley’s lovely face.

It started with soft twitches of his irises, then a slow and relaxed blink. Then a shuddered breath he released from deep within his lungs. Crowley swallowed, stretched his head to the left and right. His finger slipped from the touch of a _Monstera deliciosa_.

And then he awoke.

"Hello angel."

The sunlight reflected brightly in Aziraphales watery eyes.

"Hello, my dear," he answered, whispering fondly like the demon.

There was a moment of silence in which Crowley stretched the rest of his slender body. Aziraphale gripped the handle of his teacup harder for a moment.

"Can I tempt you to a snack? I think we still haven't been at the pub near Tadfield we were at after bringing the young Miss and her bicycle home. You had strawberry ca-"

"You look scrumptious," Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley stared at him. One hand had been resting at the bookshelf, now it was trying to stabilize Crowley and failed utterly.

The shelf wobbled, books shifted dangerously. Paper fluttered, the wood ached. The _Monstera deliciosa_ rushed over the edge, sauntered downwards and burst on the floor. Soil, splints of pottery and crushed green spread between the feet of the demon and the angel.

Both blushed at the same time.

Crowley flicked his wrist and the plant recovered itself like in an inverted video film. Aziraphale hurried to the shelf and aligned his precious books. He cupped the cover of Caesars _Bellum Gallicum_ and smoothed the crinkled front pages with the touch of his fingers.

Hesitantly he turned around and looked at Crowley who had buried his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers. His face colour was normal again, as was his voice.

"You had strawberry cake."

"Yes. Yes, my dear, I remember," Aziraphale said out of breath and with a short, pleased smile.

Crowley flicked his sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on.

"Get going then, angel," he said as he sauntered outside.

Aziraphale brushed over his undercoat, steadied himself and strolled behind Crowley. He noticed that he did not give the demon an answer to his temptation. Not that Crowley has expecting one.

Aziraphale closed the door behind him and allowed himself to grin in his bowtie.

* * *

The Bentley shone in all its glory as they approached it around the corner. Crowley halted, opened the front passenger's door and held it open. Aziraphale hesitated, then smiled at Crowley’s noncommittal face.

Aziraphale sat down, smoothing his trousers as Crowley closed the door with a loud _Pang_ and literally _ran_ to the other side. Aziraphale laughed incredulously.

The driver's door opened, Crowley jumped in, slammed it shut and started the engine with a happy twist of his wrist. His face was stoic, and everybody else including Hell would have guessed that Crowley was irritated or angry.

But Aziraphale knew better. Crowley was indeed happy. It pulsed from his body core like a tiny sun, spirited his movements and made Aziraphale’s heart bloom.

With an endearing smile the angel stroked the car dashboard in front of him as they made their way out of Soho.

"I never imagined I would be so happy to see the Bentley again. And even ride in it!"

Crowley speeded over a red traffic light, miraculously avoiding a VW with screeching tires.

Aziraphale jumped and stifled a scream in his throat. He coughed to settle his nerves again.

"Well... maybe I am still not very fond of it."

"Oh, it's just my driving style, really. Nothing to do with the Bentley. I could drive this mad VW over there just the same. But it wouldn't be as fun." He padded the dashboard.

"Einsicht ist der erste Schritt zur Besserung," Aziraphale muttered under his breath.

"What?" Crowley asked, turned the steering wheel.

Someone screamed outside and cursed the mad driver of the black thing. They were already distant as the curses got to an unhealthy number of swearwords.

"Nothing, my dear."

"Was that _German_?" Crowley stared at Aziraphale, his mouth opened in both a derogatory and surprised manner.

"Watch the street, please," Aziraphale said with closed eyes.

He could feel the chuckle of Crowley more than he heard it. It disturbed his angelic aura in a fond way and reached his conscience. He really could not help but smile. He didn't want it, but there it was.

"Wicked angel," he heard Crowley say; just before the tires screeched again and Crowley screamed "Clown!" out of the window at just another poor human fellow.

Once outside of London the incidents of threatened humans decreased to zero. Aziraphale let himself relax and admire the scenery outside the window. Crowley seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. So Aziraphale did the same. The branches around them created shadows in the sunlight and rose the suspicion of the sun winking at him. Aziraphale smiled at the summer grass of the hills and let his mind get lost in the width of his old memory.

The Bentley roared down the streets. After a few minutes of silence Freddie Mercury decided to bless them both with his voice.

_Tonight_

_I'm gonna have myself a real good time  
I feel alive_

_And the world I'll turn it inside out, yeah_  
And floating around in ecstasy  
So don't stop me now

_Don't stop me_

Aziraphale glimpsed at Crowley. He had not moved his hands from the wheel. He frowned at the speakers.

"Seems like Adam did not only bless the bookshop with new configurations."

"'Gonna have a word with the kid," Crowley mumbled.

_'Cause I'm having a good time, having a good time!_

_I'm a shooting star, leaping through the sky  
Like a tiger_

_Defying the laws of gravity_  
I'm a racing car, passing by like Lady Godiva  
I'm gonna go, go, go  
There's no stopping me!

"So which places are still lacking a revisit, my dear? It seems we already got most of them," Aziraphale said while wiggling himself more comfortable in his seat, "We had St. James park 'first' and 'second', the Ritz, of course, the Dowling Residence - which was rather awkward if you ask me -, and the dinosaur exhibition park in America..."

"The rest of Tadfield, I suppose. The former convent, the airbase, and so on," Crowley said.

Something tugged inside Aziraphale.

"Oh, yes, you are right!" Aziraphale beamed. He turned to look at Crowley.

"The paintball area, and Jasmine Cottage... Oh, how lovely! Crowley, we can visit Miss Device and Mister Pulsifer! Even Adam and his friends!"

Crowley made an unimpressed sound, but Aziraphale noticed the spark of joy from his soul.

Aziraphale checked the watch in his pocket and blinked at the lowering sun.

"If we make it in time, they will still be awake for a few hours. I propose we head towards the Young's first, then over to Jasmine Cottage and at night we could - "

"I get it angel. Let me handle this."

Aziraphale smiled gleefully.

"I was wondering..." Crowley began after a while. There was a short tugging shift in the dimensions, similar to the first one. Crowley did not continue. Aziraphale did not push him.

They rumbled over the pavement of Tadfield's Bridge as Crowley proceeded.

"... if he is going to be happy to see us. I mean, we are the visible evidence of his own satanic origin. We wanted to _kill_ him, angel. Clearly not a good first impression. I am certain he is not very fond of that one."

Aziraphale thought about it.

"You may be right. But Adam separated me from the nice lady directly after it. Didn't even seem affected by this. And he listened to us during your time halt! He could defeat -"

"SATAN!" Crowley screamed.

"No need to yell - OH!"

Aziraphale's body was pressed into the door as Crowley hit the brake hard. Hastily he turned the wheel.

But he lost control.

The Bentley screeched, began to drift sideways and eventually halted.

_SCREECH_

A red car raced past them, ripping away the side mirror next to Aziraphale.

At the contact the car lost its course on the street, flying over the kerb and crashing into the neatly trimmed bushes.

Aziraphale and Crowley both jumped out of the Bentley, rushing towards the other car.

A red Austin Morris Traveller was smoking between the leaves. The back tires which hanged helplessly in the air were still rolling as Crowley and Aziraphale came running to the accident.

A door opened.

It jammed.

"Do something, Crowley!" Aziraphale yelped.

People stared at them, from behind windows and porches, from the sidewalks and main entrances.

"Don't like spectators. Well, I do like them, but not when I am not the centre of attention," the demon said.

He roared as he slammed his hands downwards to earth.

The street rumbled.

Aziraphale flipped his fingers.

The Austin backed away from the leaves, aligning itself neatly along the street kerb.

The door now opened.

And out of it three pale faces stumbled. And a barking creature.

Adam, Pepper and Brian were frightened, but unharmed.

Aziraphale fell to his knees in front of them.

"Are you okay, kids? Oh, dear God, you distressed me for a moment here. What is it with this ridiculous idea of driving a car? Are you out of your mind?"

"Driving is really funny, " Crowley interfered Aziraphale's upset voice as he leaned against the scrunched-up bonnet of the Austin.

"Dad is goin' to kill me," Adam groaned.

Dog barked.

Pepper and Brian stared in blank bewilderment.

It wasn't that they were not used to the strange magic going on - this was familiar ground with Adam around. But the shock had settled deeply.

"Where is your fourth member?" Crowley asked as he examined the damage of the Youngs' car.

"Wensleydale? Said he was goin' to puke if he came with us now after dinner. 's parents always make good dishes."

Aziraphale smiled at how fondly Adam had said it despite his obvious tone of disapproval. Then he became serious again as he realised that he had to play an educating role here.

"It was not very responsible of you to think that driving a car at your age would be a good idea! You could have get killed! All of you!"

"We didn't," Adam shrugged and pouted.

Aziraphale sighed deeply. Crowley stepped in front of him and smiled his flashy grin.

"You better go home now, kids," he addressed to Pepper and Brian who immediately hurried away with a little "Goodbye" in Adam's direction.

"And you, boy. You didn't have to take your dad's car in order to meet us sooner."

"Seemed like fun. Was runnin’ out of ideas lately," Adam shrugged again. Slowly his face regained its colour.

He looked around.

"Strange, nobody's watchin'."

Crowley ignored Adam's wonder and grinned at the angel who was still kneeling.

"I like it when you are on your knees in front of me."

Aziraphale blushed deeply. He opened his mouth to answer, and could not find any words. So he hurried to his feet, coughing and wheezing. With practiced movements he dusted of his trousers.

"I'll give you a lift home, Adam. But promise you won't do this kind of bullshit again. Wait for another six or seven years and I will happily assist you with driving a car."

Aziraphale immediately stopped brushing his trousers and watched the two of them heading towards the Bentley. Dog followed suit and Adam smiled at him.

The Youngs’ car had disappeared just like the tire marks and the smell of burned rubber.

There was just a Bentley with a missing side mirror in the middle of the street and a demon, a boy, and a dog walking towards it.

The mirror attached itself back again as four dissimilar beings closed the doors behind them. Crowley and Aziraphale in the front, Dog and Adam in the back.

Adam chattered right away about the castle he was building in Hogback Wood as a new camp with more space and comfort.

"And we are goin' to play princess 'n dragon. 'fcourse Pepper won't be the princess. So, everyone is goin' to be the princess at some point. We'll just switch. That's for the best, honestly. And Dog is goin' to be the warden of the castle. The Mighty Defender of Hogback Stronghold!"

Dog barked happily as Adam swung an arm around him and rubbed his back.

"That sounds nice, Adam," Aziraphale said with a little cough, trying to subdue the still remaining blush on his cheeks.

Crowley gave him a brief look.

"How exactly did you know we were on our way to meet you?" Crowley asked and turned into Hogback Lane.

"Just knew," Adam shrugged. "Just had to make sure you were coming now. It'd have been dark 'til you were coming here after your date at Scanda's pub. And m'parents don't allow me to be outside after dark."

They stopped in front of Adam's house. The typical English composition of grey and red brick aligned itself neatly between the other one-family dwelling. It really was a lovely atmosphere. Aziraphale could easily imagine that Adam has been raised in a beloved home here.

For the glimpse of a second he wondered if Crowley would like to live with him in an area like this, in a lovely little house like this.

The word "date" ghosted around his mind and manifested the almost vanished blush again.

"You could have called," Crowley murmured. Aziraphale noticed with a happy ping in his chest that goose bumps crawled their way up his neck to the contour of his jaw line.

"Where would be the fun in that? Especially when you can do it without a cell phone. It's super convenient! And I can impress Pepper, Wensley and Brian."

Adam made no move to leave the parking car. He stared out of the windscreen at the decently polished Austin in front of the porch. No scratches, no bulges.

"Thank you." Adam said quietly.

Crowley gave him a look via the rear mirror.

He started the engine.

"So, kid, where to?"

Adam smiled. It felt like an all-embracing sunshine in Aziraphales soul.

Adam didn't even have to answer. Crowley already knew where to drive to.

* * *

Aziraphale sighed happily and let himself relax at the back of the chair. Wine coloured like an abyssal sundown swirled in his right hand, mixing its dark reflections with the bright ones of his winged ring.

The wine was not very good, not for his spoiled taste buds anyway. But the lack of craft quality was more than compensated by the nice company he had.

Aziraphale always had nice company - his books for a start, the mighty feeling of his shop, Crowley's warm and bantering presence and the feelings he caused in the angel - but he deeply enjoyed being at Jasmine Cottage right now with a witch, the former antichrist and a wannabe computer engineer.

And of course, Crowley. Never forget Crowley.

Adam sipped at an orange lemonade and browsed through a new witch magazine Anathema had a subscription for.

Used cutlery was sprawled out on the table between them and everyone seemed to be pleased with the fondue whose ingredients and hardware had miraculously made their way out of a supermarket into Jasmine Cottage.

Adam could not make matter appear out of nothing like a complete supernatural being, but he was well educated in his own magical skills. It seemed he grew quite fond of them and did not want to lose all his non-human abilities.

Aziraphale made a note to have an eye on that. He was worried that the dark side of these power persisted, too.

But right now, everything was peaceful. Adam's sunshine like presence settled perfectly along Aziraphale's angelic one. He dived in the welcoming warmth and blinked slowly at Anathema who gestured widely now.

"And this stupid man - what was his name? Tyler? - came to me and said: 'Young person, I noticed that there is a burned spot of grass in my gardens. You would not know how it got there? You and your funny looking boyfriend seemed to be very giddy enjoying each other. Well, do it on your own property! Not in someone else's garden! I can't have that here!'

Oh my God, those damned old English folks!"

With an exasperated sigh she slumped backwards.

"He doesn't know we literally saved the fucking world!"

Crowley took an elegant sip of his wine glass and tsked.

"Dear ma'am, no such words in front of a child, yes? And since we are at it - please do not mention the Almighty in here. She has brought enough trouble for the next foreseeable time, I suppose."

Dog barked supportively and Crowley smiled at him in a deep understanding way.

Aziraphale shuddered at the intimate moment. He knew Crowley would deny this scene in every possible way if he asked him about it later. So, he took the moment in and saved it firmly in his memory.

Newton laughed and took Anathema's hand. She visibly relaxed and smiled at Crowley.

"You know what? You are right. I should focus on this evening. It's so wonderful to have you both here as our guests. Adam visits us often with his friends and we often talk about you. Mainly so, to be honest. Newton and I still don't know what to do next, now that Agnes' prophecies don't tell us what to do."

She smiled affectionately at Newton's hand in hers.

Dog barked.

"But we have all the time in the world. I think we'll figure something out."

"You do that," Aziraphale replied with a warm feeling in his stomach.

Dog barked again, seemingly irritated.

"Especially one kid and his friends are going to keep us on our toes," Newton said with a chuckle.

Adam did not react.

Newton let his laugh fade with a smile. Then his face became strained.

"Newt? Everything okay?" Anathema asked.

He opened his mouth and failed to form words.

A loud bang made them jump.

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's shoulder before he could fully slump on the table. The angel shivered; his knuckles white on top of the burst wood next to the cutlery.

"Angel! What -"

"Adam!" Anathema shouted.

"H-his... aura is changing..." Aziraphale choked out.

Adam's hair flickered like struck by a lightning. The glass of lemonade quivered and fell of the table. The air felt heavy.

Sulphur and metal.

He grimaced with red fiery eyes.

And suddenly, he relaxed again.

The thunderstorm inside Jasmine Cottage decreased and stilled. The electricity vanished. Only the taste of metal on their tongues remained.

Adam panted and composed himself.

The others stared at him in consternation.

Dog barked furiously and did not even calm down when Adam ran soft hands along his trembling body.

"'m sorry," he mumbled. "Was not my fault."

"My dear, I know," Anathema said and freed herself from the cling of Newton. In a soothing manner she stroked Adams shoulder.

Adam looked up to Aziraphale and Crowley who had not let go of his angel. The look on his face was petrified whereas Aziraphale slowly collected himself again.

"Something bad is coming," Adam said.

"What do you mean, Adam?" Anathema asked, her hold of Adam's shoulder gone harder.

"They are coming for you." Adam blinked and suddenly looked like the eleven-year-old he really was.

Aziraphale noticed Crowleys warm body around his, and the overwhelming sensation of doom from Above and Down.

"Oh, no. No no no. What are we going to do? I burnt the Prophecies! What have I _done_?" Anathema whispered and stared helplessly in Aziraphale's eyes.

Aziraphale straightened himself and cleared his throat. Crowley immediately let go of his tight embrace but hesitated for a moment before he let himself fall back in his chair.

A warm sensation washed over Aziraphale despite the ripping claws of imminent danger.

"Well, at first, we have been warned. Adam, dear boy, what exactly did you hear or see?"

Adam gripped his head like he had a sudden headache. His mouth twisted.

"I... don't know. You felt it too, Aziraphale?"

"Yes, my dear. But you had a vision. Like in your dreams. What did the voices tell you?"

"It's... gotten harder. Can't get good access to them anymore. Lost most of m'powers..."

"I know. Try it."

Adam stilled for a moment.

"They are telling that things come to an end. Especially for you two. I saw two marching armies in an empty space. I saw fire and lightning, sulphur and swords. They fought, but I could not see if they fought with each other or against something.

And then I saw your two souls hurting and screaming.

And I heard..."

He gulped. And he seemed frightened. Truly frightened.

"I heard:

_All must suffer._

_The earth ends not as She wants it to_

_But as we wish._

_For the humiliation we endured_

_And the resentment we harbour_

_All must suffer_

_And burn in red and silver storms_ "

There was silence.

"They want to kill everyone," Newton said quietly. He looked up.

"No," Anathema said. With trembling fingers, she took off her glasses and blinked resolutely.

"No, Newt. They will torture us until we die."


	2. Heaven and Hell

There was a heavy silence as a demon and an angel drove back to London. Even Freddie was silent.

"Is it a biblical reference?" Crowley asked.

"I don't know for sure," Aziraphale replied contemplating. "It is not a quotation, literally I mean. More like a summary."

"Doesn't seem like Satan then. He is always very fond of those. Babbled them all the time during the first three millennia."

"Adam must have got the vibes from his father and therefore the vision. I believe it is Satan’s doing, his anger at least. But you may be right. It doesn't have the appearance of a real Heavenly plan or prophecy. Not like real... craftsmanship."

"Bollocks! I knew this whole Armageddon't wouldn't be okay for long, angel. Heaven and Hell are searching for a way to erase us completely, despite any prophecy or plan or whatever! They are very angry, angel. And apparently they found a way."

They got out of the Bentley and into the rain of Soho. It had begun to start falling since they entered London. Now it was drumming in their ears as they hurried to the bookshop.

"Not yet, my dear. Adam's warning gives us a head start. I think he can still sense trouble from Down there - directly from his Father. But they don't know he can still do that. We still have time to work something out. We have to!"

"But even eleven years nearly didn't work out! And now we won't even have this amount of time!"

Crowley slammed the door shut. The rain remained outside.

Shitshitshitshit! We should had been coming up with something right after the trials. What was I thinking? Angel, I - I-"

He was on the stairs as he spun around and grabbed Aziraphale by the seams of his coat.

"I can't lose you. Not again. Not... ever again." His voice was strained, full of unshed tears.

"There is much I want to do - so much I want to... ask. Didn't I do enough? Didn't we - ?"

"Calm down, dear."

"I ONLY EVER ASKED QUESTIONS."

Crowley faltered and collapsed onto the bed. He laid there. Not with his usual lascivious sprawl. He simply laid there like a puppet with broken limbs.

Aziraphale gave in to the desire he felt in his burning heart.

He sat beneath Crowley, fingers softly touching his ribcage.

Crowley let out a sound between a gnarl and a sigh and caught Aziraphale's wrist. Aziraphale paused. With a pang of fear, he wondered if he had misinterpreted Crowley's aura.

But Crowley pushed Aziraphale's pale fingers firmer onto his ribs and released a breath.

His limbs relaxed. Now they seemed more like functioning parts of Crowley's body.

"We will come up with something. We did it so many times in history. And even during Armageddon. Crowley, you know, at the trial in the bathtub - I asked for a rubber duck and so on – but I also said to them  
'You are probably thinking: If he can do this, I wonder what else he can do? Very, very soon you all are going to get the chance to find out.' And I think I was right. Now they will."

Crowley stared at him blankly and in utter shock.

"You were whot?" he choked out.

Aziraphale became fidgety.

"You know, it seemed to be in character. You are suave and gallant, and I thought a bit of a threat would be fitting. I-I hope -"

"You really are a bastard angel," Crowley grinned at him, with so much surprise and affection, it reminded Aziraphale of their very first meeting on the walls of Garden Eden as he told him he gave his flaming sword away.

"Yes, I mean, if you say so. But my point is... My point is: We can do it, Crowley. Together."

"Our side..." the demon said. His smile faded.

"Yes."

"Always?"

"For eternity, my dear."

Crowley sat up enough to prop himself on his elbows.

Aziraphale removed the sunglasses from his eyes.

"I need to have you know that I can't live without you, angel."

He crooked his head to one side and let his gaze run over the features of Aziraphales face.

He shook his head slightly and gifted Aziraphale a failing smile.

"I know, my dear," Aziraphale whispered with closed eyes.

"And I want you to know that if you ever get banished to the edges of the universe I will come after you, I will search for you, I will spend the rest of my existence to find you."

Aziraphale oppressed a sob and forced himself to look in Crowley's dead serious eyes. They shone golden in the dark bookshop.

"And if you get erased from this very existence - if I lose you, a-angel... An existence without you is meaningless. I will get myself -"

"- Stop! Stop it, Crowley. I am begging you."

Aziraphale slumped against Crowleys torso, his hand still firmly on the rhythmical moving ribcage. For a moment neither of them moved in the silence.

Then strong, slender arms wrapped around Aziraphale and held him in a tight snake-like embrace.

"Stop talking, Crowley."

"Yes, angel."

"I love you, too."

The warmth of Crowley's body, the ever-present mighty power of the shop, and the drumming rain outside lulled him. He breathed in Crowley's scent and relaxed.

Soil, grapes and whiskey.

* * *

_Two days prior._

Gabriel gripped the edges of his tablet harder.

He lifted his face towards the outlook of Heaven and focused on the Eiffel Tower. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

He heard the steps of Sandalphon, Michael, and Uriel approaching him.

"Archangel Gabriel," they said in unison.

Gabriel did not react. He kept his violet gaze in the distance, his back to the other angels.

He heard Sandalphon clear his throat. A totally unnecessary human action.

"You called for us?" Michael tried.

It took another two and a half minutes until Gabriel finally turned around. The other angels felt their composition shatter for a moment but stabilised their faces immediately.

Gabriel looked furious.

"What do you have to say to this?"

Gabriel wiped one finger across the screen of his tablet and projected the interface in the middle of the room. The tablet in his hands dematerialized.

It took Sandalphon, Uriel, and Michael a few moments to intake the information presented.

Michael closed her lips to thin line, Uriel frowned, Sandalphon let his mouth fall open slightly and squinted. It was not a surprised reaction of him - he just simply did not grasp the presentation, to be honest.

"We have to stop this madness," Michael hissed. She turned to Gabriel sharply. "Those two bleeders have been brought enough disgrace to us. We. are. Heaven! We are the eyes and arms of the Almighty! Do you want to bring more shame to Her?"

"Shut up," Gabriel snapped.

"We should eradicate them now. Just correctly this time," Uriel said with her calm voice.

"And how do you want to do this, hm?" Gabriel asked with a false grin. He took the few steps to Uriel and blocked her view to the projection. He leaned down and let his violet gaze pierce through hers.

"Holy water and hellfire did not work! What else do we have, hm? Those are the two most powerful objects of the whole universe! And the two traitors _withstood_ them!"

Uriel backed away. Gabriel straightened himself.

Sandalphon's face suddenly lit up while studying the screen in front of him.

"Oh, unpermitted miracles, too much human interaction. Sinful indulgence like Mozart and... sushi."

"No, that is not the point, Sandalphon!" Gabriel snarled, then put on his cold smile.

"I mean, yes, it is part of the point. We haven't really bothered about his doing down on earth, and his un-angelic behaviour towards his own celestial body and especially the humans. I shall condone it, though this is a mistake we realised too late. No, my point is!" he gestured incredulously, "Aziraphale's and this demon Crowley's mere existence are a shame and evidence of the wounded omnipotence of God. They disobeyed their offices, thwarted the Great Plan with their babbling about ineffability and corruption of the antichrist, and even FRATERNIZED."

Gabriel's face had lost his cold composure during his speech.

"But we fraternized with Hell, too. At the trials." Sandalphon pointed out with a raised finger.

Uriel and Michael shot him a startled look.

Gabriel's coat wavered as he flew over to Sandalphon. He grabbed the lapels of his jacket.

"We. did. not!" Gabriel took a deep breath in and let his grimace fade into a smile. "Fraternize, Sandalphon. We had a collaboration with our opposition in terms of a mutual enemy. That is all. Do you understand?" His tone was dangerous, and even Sandalphon got the hint behind it.

He gulped and nodded quickly.

"Very good!" Gabriel applauded and padded the crinkled lapels of Sandalphon with a bit too much pressure.

"But there has to be something we can do against them. We are ten million angels and ten million demons, we ought to cope with TWO of them! This whole situation is a complete nightmare." Michael said stiffly.

"We could cast him out. Principality Aziraphale. Let him Fall." Uriel pointed out.

"A very good method in the old days. Very good with Lucifer and his lot. But they were banned for mere asking the wrong questions. A nice fate, I assume. But not for Aziraphale. He shall be eradicated, torn apart, his memory treaded down, his core atomised to complete non-existence! I want him to suffer for his actions!"

This time all archangels backed away.

"But on more grounded and objective terms," he added in a composed tone, "if we let the traitor Fall, we would not only lose the last possibility to monitor him on earth but are in no control whatsoever to influence the consequences of his transformation to a demon. He would gain powers which are unknown to us, and he could possibly get even _stronger_ ," he spat the word out, "with them. It is worse enough that he is the Principality of the Eastern Gate. Not that this title means _anything_ anymore."

Gabriel looked out of the windows again.

Michael and Uriel shared an unsettled look.

Sandalphon cleared his throat a second time.

"I think we still have an option. Not hellfire nor holy water, but more." He paused for a moment. "We could initiate... our own Armageddon and 'gedd on'" he said with a self-satisfied nod.

Gabriel slowly turned on his heels and blinked at the lesser angel.

"'Our own Armageddon and 'gedd -' - Sandalphon. You are a genius." Gabriel clasped his hands and made a Wow-expression. "This is it!"

He turned serious again, a fiery expression in his eyes.

"Armageddon and 'gedd on'. Michael, Uriel, I want you to work out a plan. I want a presentation in three days. I am going to call Hell and check their status in terms of the traitorous demon. And you, Sandalphon - I will give you a pay rise.

\- Yes, what is it?"

"What is a sushi?"

Gabriel blinked slowly at him. There was a pause.

"Get this entity out of here before I fucking forget myself. And scratch the pay rise."

The projection of Aziraphale's monitoring vanished as the dismissed archangels hurried away.

"In my whole existence I have never seen him this upset." Uriel whispered harshly and aligned her walk to Michael's firm steps.

"Until now there was never a reason to." Michael said in a dark tone. "It is a shame to all of us."

Uriel never came to know if Michael referred to the traitors' case or the archangel Gabriel.

Something dawned Michael as she hurried down the stairs to the lower floors.

It was a tiny sting while she was thinking about her visit in Hell with the carafe of holy water. She remembered her shock as she saw the demon Crowley _dabbling_ in the bathtub and ordering her to miracle a towel.

There was a tiny detail in it...

She stopped her tracks.

Oh.

"OH." she breathed.

* * *

_Present day_

" _One missed call_ \- 

Hello… Aziraphale, it's Anathema.

I - I'm still very confused with how the evening turned out. Guess it won't ever get boring with the former Antichrist around, eh? Well, uhm, I just wanted to check on you.

And... Okay... Two weeks ago, I was a hundred percent sure to be doing the right thing with burning the new prophecies of Agnes. Now I am not. I am feeling very bad about it.

Surely, she knew what was happening. And now we are helpless. I am... helpless. And yet I just wanted to pay you back for the lift home and saving the world with us and... you know. Now I lost my position of the professional descendant, and I don’t know what to do, and it seemed like a good idea to call and -

It is damn late, and I have been awake for too long. So... sorry for the sudden outburst, I am sure you didn't want to hear that.

I just wanted to let you know that I am working on Adam's unspecific vision. Hopefully I can decipher some of the enigmas. I mean, I trained my whole life to decipher enigmas." There was strained laughter.

"So, you can call me if you have something. I will do the same. - Goodbye."

* * *

_One day prior_

Lights flickered. Zombie-like creatures crawled and spooked through corridors; always on the run, but nothing to flee from. And nowhere to go.

A rotting demon scuffed his way along. With what was remaining of his right arm he supported his weight on the former white walls, leaving traces of carrion there.

He brushed the poster “You DON’T MATTER”.

Now it read “You DON’T MAT”. Quite a nice imperative for the always tangled and filthy hair of demons.

Maybe the hair would obey at least.

The demon, oblivious of his deed, scuffed forward. With his bulged-out eyes he noticed a rush in front of him.

The mass of demons rumoured, and like a cut-open artery three creatures splashed through them.

Their steps were firm, hardly composed, and angry.

The rotting demon shrugged to himself. He was used to those kinds of steps. With a look down on his own legs, he envied the Dukes of Hell for their functioning lower bodies.

That was not fair.

And it was particularly not fair that he was ripped off his stumps as they rushed by and then over him.

 _Why does life have to be like this_ , he thought listlessly.

The three remaining Dukes of Hell rushed along the corridors.

“Would you care to explain to us what this is all about?”

“She does never care, Dagon.”

“It’s a figure of sp- Never mind. Why am I even trying?”

“I don’t know. But maybe I’ll understand.”

“That was also a figure of – oh, bloody hell.”

“Shut it!” Beelzebub snapped who was walking in front.

They turned around a corner and left the turmoil of demons. In a dim room they settled. Beelzebub in a seemingly uncomfortable throne, Dagon and Hastur in front of her on wobbling bar stools.

Wobbly barstools were an invention of Hell. It created fury and unease among humans and easily caused minor or major injuries.

If Beelzebub knew that Crowley invented them (but not because of the part with the injuries) Hell would break loose. Well figuratively speaking. You know.

“Heaven called. They wanted to know if we knew anything about C-Cr- The traitor.”

Dagon blinked. “Why?”

“Gabriel didn’t want to tell exactly. Those oozy angels are always so superior and evasive. Even with the well accepted cooperation I could smell the disgust of Michael. Not that I don’t feel the same.”

“Wank wing,” Hastur muttered.

“Apparently they want to eradicate that angel and the traitor. I don’t know _how_ they want to do that, now that neither hellfire nor holy water works. They never were the creative ones. Always had us to do all the sparking and muddy work and then scolded us for it like… uhm, like – “

“– like primary school teachers?” Dagon suggested.

“What” Hastur said.

Beelzebub blinked.

“Yes, like that”, she said quickly and drew a new breath.

“For all we know now is that Heaven wants to set up a plan. As usual they don’t trust us, and we do not trust them. But somehow, they are sure we will happily hand over the private information about one of our members and let them do with it as they please to. Well, former member.”

“Hate this bastard,” Hastur said.

“Shut your stupid mouth if you don’t have something helpful to zzzay!” Beelzebub hissed. The buzzing grew loud. The flies multiplied and hollered in the tiny room.

Hastur kept a straight face but his lips morphed immediately to a thin line.

Beelzebub closed her eyes for a moment. The flies calmed down. After a few seconds they wavered lazily around her head again.

“We won’t give them any information about the traitor. We got enough problems with it already. Above must not know about that.”

“What exactly is it, Lord Beelzebub?” Hastur asked. “The problem did not get to me.”

“That had a very good reason,” Beelzebub said darkly.

“Oi, what?” Hastur glared from Dagon to Beelzebub and vice versa.

“You were the one to stop Cr- the traitor from getting to the airbase in the first place! But not only you failed, you got discorporated because you couldn’t compose yourself enough during a _motorcycle ride_!”

“Car ride,” Hastur corrected.

“Whatever!” Beelzebub snapped.

Hastur shut his mouth.

“You FAILED, Hastur. We are not _pleazzzzed_.”

Dagon shot Hastur a look of fake pity.

The Duke sniffed and kept this gaze forward.

“We have to regain control and monitor the traitor as fast as possible. Dagon, I want you to find out why we no longer have access to the primary codes nor his miracle history. And I want you to fix it!”

Dagon nodded quickly.

“If Heaven calls again, find some excuse. You are good in this. We are good in this. Lies and deception are our business. Say something like: We do not trust you; our spies are much better than you; we already have a plan and are going to run it without you buggers, blah blah.”

“Yes, master.”

“And no word about this to anyone, do you understand?”

Both the lesser demons nodded.

“But what am I going to do, Lord Beelzebub?” Hastur, Duke of Hell, asked.

Beelzebub smiled.

“You can serve biscuits.”

The lights flickered and spat out a demon with a clip board in his hands.

The Dukes of Hell turned around simultaneously.

“What is it?” Beelzebub snarled.

“Lord Beelzebub, we, uh” the demon began, stopped and caught his breath. His long lower eyelashes wiggled as he blinked. He glanced at his notes.

“We wanted to inform you we managed to hack into the tele-communication system of Heaven for a short period of time. We were able to trace the recent activities of them – phone calls, computer data and such.”

Hastur made an exasperated noise. Beelzebub waved her hand for the demon to continue.

“I- I wrote it down for you, Lord Beelzebub. I think you should take a look yourself.”

He rushed forward and pressed the clipboard in Beelzebub’s awaiting hand.

She studied the scribbled notes and the arrows connecting them.

Her brows darted under her hairline. Then she grinned grimly as she made her conclusions.

“Very bad of you. You are dismissed.”

The demon bowed, seemingly relieved, and hurried outside before the compliment could turn into any form of torment.

Beelzebub straightened herself on the throne and tapped the clipboard on her armrest.

“I think” she said “we have both a good and a bad message. So, this is very fine for us. Dagon, new task: Set out your subordinates up to earth and let them watch the traitor and his… whatever he his. I want precise human notes about any flaws he is showing. I still can’t believe he is gone native on earth. It makes everything – “

Something rang.

Again.

A buzzing sound.

The three demons glanced at each other. Dagon shrugged their shoulders and waved a hand to the phone which was standing at the corner of the rooms. It flew towards them like an obeying dog and came to a halt next to Beelzebub’s throne.

She grabbed the handle.

“Hullo. Duke of Hell Beelzebub speaking.”

“Two calls in a day, that is a record,” Dagon noted while leaning towards Hastur.

Hastur sat on his bar stool like it was soon to gallop away with him on its back. He fumbled with the hard cushion.

“Yeah. Well. Whatever. Don’t understand the thing with this bloody technology. It’s miracles but in human style. What a pile of shit. Hate those buggers.”

Dagon leaned back with a mocking grin which exposed their long teeth.

“I heard you were humiliated by a little American human, barely eleven years old. How does that feel in comparison to your six thou-?“

“Silence!” Beelzebub bellowed.

It was different from her usual furious shouting. It was stone cold.

Dagon and Hastur were pressed on top their bar stools by a mighty force they could not withstand.

Hastur’s jaw chattered.

He did not feel fear. It was nearly impossible for a demon to feel fear (his own, to be precise), but the cold sting Beelzebub sent out worked his way through him and he imagined it would surely feel something like this.

* * *

“I noticed just yesterday.”

“And why did you not call sooner? Why didn’t Gabriel say a single word of this revelation? Oh wait.” Beelzebub grinned into the phone.

She was alone now. The lights flickered in the contracted room. Flies buzzed.

“You do not trust each other. Quarrelled Heaven, is it?”

“Listen, Beelzebub, I assure you – “

“Yes, I very well understood, angel.”

“Then you know how critical this information is!” Michael hissed. “It changes everything! How can you be so calm about this? I thought you were the ones with rage and fury. It is your nature!”

“And it is your nature to be calm and wise and empathetic, yet you happily kill a bunch of humans because they disobeyed your stupid rules, even by the way of precaution.”

There was a second of silence.

“This is not the topic now, demon. But I am showing my empathy and wisdom by sharing this crucial information with you,” the angel said with hardly controlled calmness. “And I want us to work together. We could easily capture both your demon and Aziraphale and annihilate them with our usual weapons. It is as simple as that!”

Beelzebub spread her lips into a grimacing smile. The flies buzzed around her.

“Oh, we could do this all by ourselves if it is so simple. We still have your holy water here since you were too startled to take it back with you. And to capture a confirmed real demon and a confirmed real angel is not a difficult task.” Beelzebub’s voice was quiet.

“So, I am thinking: Why would you share this information with us if it is so simple? As far as I know, Heaven is convinced about its omnipotence since the beginning of time. You wouldn’t be omnipotent if you had to ask the opposition for… help.” Now her voice was dangerous.

She heard Michael breathe in.

“Beelzebub – “

“I think you are _lying_ to me, angel. That’s what you do, despite your whole angelic presence and show on earth and Down here. Heaven is not as holy and sacred as it wishes to be. Especially not God Herself.”

“Don’t you dare speaking about the Almighty like this!”

“What do you want to do about it – Make me Fall all over again?”

“Listen, _demon_. We’ve got a mutual enemy. Two, to be honest. Humanity and their declared wardens. They took the chance from us to fight the Last Fight! Do you understand, Beelzebub? They want it exactly that way: want us to go on with bickering and thwarting each other, so that humanity and those two freaks live happily ever after!”

“A new Armageddon.” Beelzebub intoned. Her face was emotionless.

“Ah, I see you are catching on. You would not want to let a demon and an angel be the living evidence of your whole humiliation, would you? “

“Burning them all. Wiping them out.”

“Uhm, yes.”

There it was.

The rage. The rampant fury. It flared out of Beelzebub and set the throne around her on fire. It seethed with heat and anger.

Flies screamed as they died in the sudden heat.

“We are going to destroy them all. Hell has had enough of humanity. We are going to get our well-deserved doom of earth, even if God is not willing to allow it, angel. We will demand justice of them and you.”

It took a moment for Michael to catch on. But now her voice was full of angelic determination.

“You will get your revenge, demon. We can still get our Armageddon, yes. But first we must wipe out our rotting limbs, the two traitors. We know how to do it. Together.”

“Oh, no, angel,” Beelzebub chuckled coldly. “I do not trust you, and I will never. That little cooperation was a fine thing, but it did not work out. Made it even worse. Hell is going to operate on its own. Ten million demons, Michael, how long do you think the whole humanity and two revealed supernatural entities will last? I think not very long.”

“Beelzebub, think rationally!”

“I am thinking rationally, angel. Never have better.”

“You are endangering the whole affair, our whole plan for the end of the world!”

“You sound fearful. Is Heaven this scared of a serpent and a soft pansy? I bet you did not even contemplate discussing your renegade plan with Herself, did you? She would not approve, am I right?

Do not talk to me about being rational.”

* * *

The throne flamed on, long since Beelzebub had left it.

It burned through the ground like black acid and sent toxic smoke along the uncountable floors and corridors of Hell.

Then the ground and walls were shaking in a primeval might, with a dull sound resonating through the bone marrow of every being in Hell.

Every demon stood still and looked up like predators getting the scent.

Satan was not pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very happy with this chapter - it is a pleasure to write the unique characters of GO.
> 
> As English is not my native language I sure hope everything is coherent and entertaining. I am writing and I am learning.
> 
> I would be very happy to hear what you think!
> 
> Storm clouds are about to come...


	3. Prophecies

_Sunday_

The humans around chattered, gestured and smiled. They walked, took a seat, got up from their chairs. Greeted and waved Goodbye, embraced each other, and shared thoughts, fears and dreams.

Among them in a little family-run pub, an angel and a demon sat, sharing silence and condolence.

They were on their return home from their second visit of Jasmine Cottage in two days and had decided that the current circumstances should not interfere with their previous plan to revisit every place along the path of Armageddon’t.

Aziraphale carefully impaled a piece of strawberry cake, Crowley watched his hands moving. The wing ring blinked in the slightly too cold-coloured illumination of Scanda’s.

Crowley’s face was expressionless but Aziraphale felt the slow pulsing of his affection. As always. Crowley radiated warm energy like a halo. Not for the first time Aziraphale wondered if this was an irony of the Almighty. He hasn’t told Crowley that he could feel his presence in that way in fear of Crowley locking up his feelings towards Aziraphale and humanity around them. Deep down Aziraphale was sure Crowley knew his own emotions and their impact to the environment thoroughly.

He was a secure and confident being, with much more empathy and mercy Aziraphale had ever experienced from his own lot.

Former lot, he reminded himself.

It was not a grief-stricken reminder. In fact, he was utterly relieved.

Aziraphale reached out to Crowley with his soul and stroke his halo like a soft brush of his hand.

He saw his opposite shudder in pleasure before a smile crept its way on his lips and into the covered slit eyes.

Then Crowley leant back in his chair and tapped against the ceramic of his half full mug of coffee. The connection between them stayed like a metaphysical embrace of their hands.

“So, you have a plan?”

“I think I need a few more bites of this marvellous cake.”

“Go on then.”

There were a few more moments of silence with the demon watching Aziraphale savouring the red and white coloured matter.

“You know, this is in fact very similar to our last visit here.”

Aziraphale gulped the last piece of cake down and nodded.

“Despite the imminent doom of earth, it was a rather lovely date.”

Crowley jerked. Aziraphale suppressed an adoring smile.

“Yes, yes,” He agreed simply. “Can we finally talk about the now imminent doom?”

“Of course, my dear.” Aziraphale had gone serious again.

* * *

_Three hours earlier_

Anathema was puffy-eyed and tired as she had welcomed them in her living room.

“You know, we actually wanted to plan our wedding these days and talk about it with you yesterday. Well that went down like a lead balloon,” she chuckled weakly.

Crowley raised his eyebrows and had to suppress a low cough at this statement.

Anathemas table, one day prior full of cutlery and Swiss fondue, was now occupied with piles of paper, clips, measurement tools and differently coloured pencils. It was as scrunched up as Anathema looked like.

The splinted spot on the table was clearly visible where Aziraphale’s fist had crushed upon the night before.

Aziraphale noticed it and felt shameful. With a wave of his hand the table surface was as flawless as before. Maybe even shinier and thoroughly polished.

She let herself fall on a chair at the front side of the table and placed her elbows on it. She buried her head in her hands.

“I couldn’t find anything,” she said flatly. “Agnes’ old prophecies don’t contain anything past “chooseth your faces wisely”. No prophecy contained a phrasing like in Adam’s vision, not even rudimentarily. And all notes of my ancestors centre around bygone times and occasions. No clue for today, not one foreseeing thought of them!” she groaned.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t help you. Why did I had to burn those papers? I am so stupid!”

Aziraphale had laid a comforting hand on her shoulders.

“I am sorry, my dear. Don’t torture yourself. You did the right thing.”

Anathema sniffed and nodded. She quickly composed herself with a straightened back.

“I mean, the vision of Adam is fairly clear. Look.” She fumbled in the chaos of the table and laid a neatly scribbled piece of paper in front of Aziraphale.

_All_ _must suffer._ Humanity, earth; acc. to Adam Az. & Crow. too

_The earth ends not as She wants it to_ Great plan. New plan; without consent of higher authorities?

_But as we wish. _Hell? Heaven? Both?

_For the humiliation we endured_

_And the resentment we harbour_ They are angry

_All must suffer_

_And burn in red and silver storms_ red, silver – blood and swords? Fire? Prop. hellfire?

Storms… new tornados? Or fig.?

“I mean, yes, there are a lot of question marks. A steady habit when confronted with Agnes’ prophecies.” She smiled crookedly. “But this is Adam and I am quite sure with what I wrote here. Earth shall end, the powers – presumably both Hell and Heaven – want to differ from God’s plans and initiate their own doom; we got that before. What’s bothering me is the last part.”

Aziraphale read the notes in a wimp of moment. He had experienced the birth of papyri, and later on the birth of books. He had been accompanying their evolution through time, watched them getting created and getting burnt. He had had a lot of human lifespans’ time to read. His tempo matched with this fact.

“You could be right. If this is Hell _and_ Heaven involved, it is most likely hellfire and swords. Or hellfire and holy water. It is often described as silvery.”

“I think the part with the blood is not farfetched,” Crowley said, his first words since their arrival.

Anathema leant back and watched the two entities think.

She could see the colourful aura of Aziraphale. It was golden and bright, but that was not the colour Anathema had read about in the many religious books she had studied during her childhood. Angels’ auras were described as white as heavenly clouds, blinding in their brightness. Aziraphale’s aura was darker, nowhere near as repelling as the ache of glaring light.

Crowley’s aura was interesting, too. The demon stood in the doorframe, his hands entangled in the loops of his trousers, and watched Anathema from behind his dark sunglasses. His face sparked only a tiny hint of worry, but his aura pulsed powerfully with it towards her.

Anathema had read about demonic auras, too. They were supposed to be fiery red, twitching and itching with rage.

Crowley’s pulsated calmly, no rough edges nor crackling façades. His aura had a burgundy colour like a carefully ripened red wine, deep and rich in fragrances and tastes.

Not typically demonic either.

Anathema remembered the airbase. She remembered the auras of the superior angel and superior demon. They had been exactly like in the books (which was an exception regarding religious ‘fact’ books, she thought): Blinding white and twitching fiery.

She wondered what that meant for Crowley and Aziraphale. But turning sides and revolt against one’s lot must cause changes. Or were they present even before their alienation from Heaven and Hell?

Anathema’s head jerked up.

She told them about her discovery.

Crowley and Aziraphale shared a look which was too abyssal to grasp for Anathema. It lasted only a second but felt like eons of human history and beyond.

Aziraphale did not let go of her shoulder, and she embraced the welcoming warmth the angel was spending. She noticed how tired she was.

So tired.

“What do you think? Are we changing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? But I can assure you, angel, I would sense it if you were to Fall.”

“Oh, right.” _Thank you, my dear._

* * *

“So, I thought about the lost new prophecies,” Aziraphale said while chewing, gesturing with his fork like a gentleman. Crowley suspected he learnt that too in that discrete gentlemen’s club. But then he realised that Aziraphale already had had this attitude at their meeting in Rome long, long ago.

“Nice. They are lost,” Crowley said with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, for now.” Aziraphale nodded with an excited spark in his eyes.

Crowley crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“You are intoning – “

“Yes! Miraceling them back into existence. Whoosh –!” Aziraphale blew into his hands like he was performing a magic trick.

“You can’t be serious, angel.” Crowley was baffled. “Your stupid magic tricks did not nor will they ever work.”

“No, no, I mean real magic.”

“Oh really. If it is so easy as you say, why haven’t you performed it yet?”

Aziraphale looked a bit hurt.

“Just wanted to share my thoughts with you before doing it,” he said quietly.

Crowley’s soul tugged at Aziraphale’s in an assuring way.

“Yes. Good idea.”

Aziraphale smiled and finally, _finally,_ put down his ridiculous fork.

Crowley leaned forward and onto the table. The waitress in red-white coloured robes brushed past them and asked for unfulfilled dining wishes of the two gentlemen. Crowley made a negating head movement as Aziraphale opened his mouth, and the angel mimicked the movement quickly to the nice lady, but with more fondness.

“Maybe miracle it together? To, you know, increase the probability of success.”

It was a laughable suggestion Crowley made, but Aziraphale crooked his head and seriously contemplated it.

“You could be right, my dear! If we intertwined our ambitions, the results could be much more promising.”

Then his smile faded. He shot Crowley an irritated look. He seemed sick for a few moments.

“Why didn’t we think of this anytime sooner?”

“We do not know if this actually works, angel,” Crowley said defensively.

“Yes, you are right, as always,” Aziraphale said, straightened himself in the unergonomic seat and cleared his throat quietly.

_He… what?_ Crowley thought. He snorted incredulously.

“Angel, if you seriously mean that, I am truly and irrecoverably offended.”

Aziraphale blinked and drew his brows together. His readied straight back sank a bit.

“What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

“’I am always right’, I am always – what are you implying? All the fights we had during the ages, your impossible retreats and avoidances on nearly every instance. I was and I am always too fast for you, angel, you made that perfectly clear. You did not even have to say that directly to my face. I knew that even before 1967. It hurt like Heaven every time you evaded me after we had a major disagreement, sometimes for decades or even a few centuries! So, don’t tell me now you think I am always right.”

Crowley glared at Aziraphale; his yellow eyes hardly controlled behind the shades. He feared that if he blinked his whole angry façade fell and revealed the truth. Hurt.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, still blinking fast. His lips wobbled for a moment, a tiny detail nobody else noticed. Crowley did.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.” _For every time. For every occasion in the past. And for now._

“You were my enemy, I just couldn’t easily get along with your presence, although…” he trailed off.

“Although?” Crowley asked fondly, like no other demon ever could. Crowley was an exception of everything he ever assumed of demons, Aziraphale knew by now. He always had, subconsciously. But now it was irrevocably set.

“Although… I have always been fond of you,” Aziraphale finished his sentence with a soft whisper and smiling eyes which burned right through Crowleys sunglasses.

There it was again. The changing of Crowley’s skin right under his jaw line.

It was easier now to open up his true feelings towards Crowley, now that he was not dependant on Heaven anymore, now he was finally developing his ability to formulate emotions. Crowley was helping a lot, implicitly.

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s soul tighter and found Crowley doing it automatically in return. The demon did not move any muscle in his face. It wasn’t necessary. Aziraphale smiled back at him.

They both clicked their fingers at the same time.

Something fumed between them on top of the table.

_Weird punks_ , a lorry driver with a leather jacket and a chequered bandana thought from his place two tables away. Like him the still remaining people glanced at the two men in the back of the pub and shuffled uncomfortably in their seats. He shook his head and attended back to his burger. He stuffed three fries in his mouth. Chewing, he thought, _All those new hipster folks ‘round here. Even the ones my age ‘r corrupted by it. I forgot my ketchup, darn it._

With smoke and ashes, paper materialized on the table two tables away.

_Weird magic,_ the lorry driver’s evaluation was. A third of his burger vanished. No magic involved here.

Aziraphale assessed the conjured matter with his eyes before he ever so carefully took it in his manicured hands. The ash left traces on his fingers immediately. Despite his caution, some edges of the papers vanished in rippling flakes. There wasn’t much left – or rather – there was only a little bit made from non-existence. Some smithereens of different sizes, but none the size of any actual script page. Only singed little paper rags with hardly readable letters on them. Most of the prophecies were incomplete.

Aziraphale put on his reading glasses which he had kept ready in one of his many coat pockets.

He carefully shuffled through the handful of prophecies.

“… _ning the world that is to com,”_ he read aloud. He looked up to Crowley. “Those are the ones.”

“Nowhere near complete,” Crowley replied with a sigh. He was leaning over the table to have a closer look. “According to the witch it was a whole bundle of loose papers of _this_ size.” He made a pursuant gesture.

Now Aziraphale sighed. “Apparently there isn’t much more left to regain. Too bad.”

His eyes flickered over the letters which formed words of incomplete sentences. His furrowed brows tried to make connections and decipherments.

“I can count eight to nine prophecies, at last.” Aziraphale finally looked up. His face was not happy. “But they are strongly damaged. I have to try to find out more in the bookshop. I think in our home surroundings and more convenient atmosphere,” he looked around in the pub where a few people quickly stopped their staring, “I can find out more.”

Crowley made a gesture to make Aziraphale give him the paper rags. Aziraphale hesitated.

“I am careful, angel,” he snorted.

_Weird couple_ , the lorry driver thought, finishing his burger.

Crowley studied the papers, turned them in his hand and ignored the sharp inhaling of his angel.

“It is even more complicated now with the really bad handwriting style. The old printed prophecies were so much more convenient. Go- Satan, why can’t humans write properly and had to invent machines to do it for them?”

_An’ now they apparently came to think they aren’t even ‘uman. Times we’re livin’ in. Or did they just smoke somethin’?_

Crowley’s eyebrows suddenly flew off his face.

“Angel…”

“Did you figure something out already?”

“Not here, we ought to get going. Home.”

_Home._

Aziraphale nodded, then they quickly stood up and left the pub.

There was a huge tip on left on the table, as well as flakes of ash and an empty cake plate.

The lorry driver could not remember having seen even one of the two laying money on the table. But maybe he was just a bit overtired.

He checked his watch. Break was over.

Time to get his goods (they were wind turbine blades) further on their way. It needed people like him to do it.

_‘Cause you cannot simply miracle ‘em to their destinations_ , he chuckled internally.

* * *

“… _because the wrath of Down shalle smoulder for two … thou readeth it is upon us in a fortni_ -.”

“We have two weeks left,” Crowley stated.

He snatched the next paper from the small pile on Aziraphale’s secretary.

It was not the original, Aziraphale had made sure of that, despite Crowley’s hisses about him being careful enough. But this was a topic Aziraphale did not discuss.

Aziraphale had copied the prophecies neatly to his own fireproof paper – at least he persuaded himself with the last part. He was transferring the last of the prophecies, fully focused with his glasses on, while Crowley paced with long strides behind his back.

“The missing piece is ‘two fortnights’. Therefore, as we are reading it now, we have exactly fourteen days left, angel. That is more than two times the time of the last time.” He stopped and grinned about his fine repetition.

Aziraphale did not react. He was absorbed in his work.

Crowley picked up his pacing again, tapping the side frame of his sunglasses.

“Apparently, Heaven and Hell cannot set up a new apocalypse so quickly. Maybe they are conflicting already. It wouldn’t surprise me,” he slurred contemplatively.

He studied the new paper in his hands.

_“ngel - … ward and upward strings are intertwining. So, intertw … self with thy opposite … of a whole. For one connection in … there must be one small. The tables will soon enough b-….”_

„I am sure the first word is ‘angel’. She’s talking to you, angel. Directly.”

Crowley looked up and watched the profile of Aziraphale’s concentrated face.

“Weird, isn’t it?”

“No, she did that before…” Aziraphale answered slowly.

“She did?”

Aziraphale finished the last of the transfers with an elegant curve of his calligraphy pen. His writing style had firm letters, ancient and experienced, but had soft edges. Crowley would recognize the handwriting everywhere.

The angel stored the original prophecies ever so gently in a solid coffret before he turned around. His face became immediately softer as he laid his eyes on Crowley.

“The night we drove Miss device home with her bike – ah, you know this story. So, I studied _The nice and accurate prophecies of Agnes Nutter_ for the next two days. The first prophecy I read was addressed directly to me. She told me my cocoa was getting cold.”

Crowley stared disbelievingly. His sunglasses skidded along the back of his nose. It was a hilarious sight. Aziraphale chuckled.

“Thi- this what? That witch who predicted Armageddon considered it necessary to tell an angel his _fucking cocoa_ was getting cold, like what, three days before the apocalypse? I can’t believe this. This is madness,” he punctuated and raised an accusing finger. He did not know where to point it towards, so he gestured wildly.

Aziraphale began to laugh. It made Crowley even more upset. He paced up and down in circles, seemingly trying to stop himself from tearing his hair out.

“Ssstupid humans, stupid witches, stupid prophecies, stupid stupid ssstupid,” he hissed.

The next time he approximated Aziraphale, the angel laid an arm around his waist. Crowley stopped instantly.

His body relaxed in the cosy embrace. He turned to Aziraphale and wrapped his hands around his angel’s shoulders. For a small eternity they stood still and savoured the moment.

Then Crowley pulled Aziraphale up to his face and laid his forehead against his. The angel hummed. It sent pleasant thunderbolts down Crowley’s ribs.

“Intertwining…” Aziraphale said slowly. “Wonder what she meant.”

“Simple. Us both and humanity against Heaven and Hell, as I predicted a fortnight ago,” Crowley stated with closed eyes.

Their embrace grew tighter as he slung his arms heavier around Aziraphale’s shoulders. He could feel Aziraphale’s breath hitch and indulged in his own sensation both deep in his soul and his celestial body.

He never knew he needed the physical proximity of Aziraphale. But since he experienced it on the bus ride to his flat and the following night, he could not imagine living without it anymore. It was like an addiction. It came on top of his eternal addiction of Aziraphale’s presence since the beginning of the world, so that was hardly worth mentioning. It aligned itself neatly.

“I don’t think so,” Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley opened his eyes and noticed Aziraphale’s fidgety face.

“Everything okay? Is it too much?” Crowley asked and released his arms a bit, bringing space between them.

“No - don’t…” Aziraphale managed to say. He gripped Crowley’s hips tighter, closing the distance with determination. Crowley escaped a low moan. It lit Aziraphale’s cheeks on fire. It suited him, the demon thought.

“Stay. Feels good. Too good.”

“I know,” Crowley hissed in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and felt the shudder of him on the lips.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. The vibration transferred directly to Crowley’s tongue and teeth. He opened his mouth in a silent hiss, felt the brushing of Aziraphale’s collar against his lips.

Suddenly, Aziraphale backed away.

Crowley let him go. The small disappointed pang in his soul was there, nonetheless.

“So, intertwining,” Aziraphale revisited the topic with a little cough. He fumbled with his bowtie. His eyes darted from the room to Crowley and back across the store.

When Crowley did not help with the heavy situation but stared at him with a motionless face, he sighed.

“You’re not helping, Crowley.”

“I- whot?”

Now there was much, much motion in his face. He opened his mouth incredulously and huffed. His brows couldn’t follow the speed of the upset nerval orders. Crowley spread his arms and let them fall to his side with a loud slap.

“You serious?!”

Aziraphale looked pained.

“Don’t be offended, my dear.”

“I am offended for the second time this evening! How many more times did you intend to do? Better tell me now, so I can adjust myself appropriately, thank you very much.”

“Crowley, I’m an angel. I am sorry!”

“Sorry what for?” Crowley asked and squinted his eyes.

Aziraphale let out his breath in a firm, self-assuring way and finally rested his gaze on Crowley. With fond hands he removed the sunglasses from Crowley’s face and laid them carefully on the secretary.

“For I am soft and insecure,” he said with a light chuckle.

Crowley watched him, his face slowly becoming relaxed again. His soul tugged at Aziraphale in an assuring way. The angel happily embraced it.

“’s okay. Really, angel. I’m not an expert myself with – you know – displays of affection. Never was. Part of the demon’s job description.”

Aziraphale laughed and gave Crowley a light kiss. It was barely a brushing of lips, but it let Crowley’s skullcap fly off his head.

“We’ll get used to it, I think.”

“Definitely. Won’t ever want to miss that part from now on, angel.”

“Maybe that is the point,” Aziraphale wondered as he turned to his secretary and leant over the spread prophecy cards.

“What do you mean?” Crowley strolled next to him and got a hold of the chair’s backrest.

“Intertwining. _Intertwine yourself with your opposite._ _Two… pieces form a whole_ ,” he said slowly while deciphering the meaning of the words in front of him. “We both shall intertwine… With our souls? Does that make sense?”

Crowley studied the paper silently while rocking the chair between his hands.

“Physically?” Aziraphale suggested. He shot a look sideways to Crowley’s doing.

“What effect would that have?” Crowley said contemplating.

“I really have no idea. I can’t see what effect that could possibly even have to the imminent apocalypse.”

“Can’t, either. Either this is a joke of ol’Agnes or she really had nothing better to do than predict snogging and shagging.”

“Don’t talk about her like that, my dear.”

* * *

… _because the wrath of Down shalle smoulder for two … thou readeth it is upon us in a fortni_ -

_ngel - … ward and upward strings are intertwining. So, intertw … self with thy opposite … of a whole. For one connection in … there must be wonne small. The tables will soon enough b-_

_Beware, for thy chosen faces … -vealed. A game of grimacing masks is yet to come, traitors._

_Up and Down the stage curtains will fall. In our play, they are combined forces in terms of a mutual … -on’t be playing with fyre anymore but with … storm – lightning and thunder mixed._

_The empty space is the theatre –_

_Symbol of first misdemeanour, symbol of latest fiery chariot shalle bring –_

_\- which a bottom graced must be returneth from the Living to the Existing Beings… a man who returned from the deade._

The cards laid on the table next to a quarter full whiskey carafe. No numeration on them.

“That is all we’ve got? Seven prophecies of a crazy witch and a blurry vision of a boy. Fourteen days left ‘til the ‘big one’,” Crowley said with dramatically waving arms while laying on the sofa.

The whiskey in his crystal glass sloshed dangerously.

“I don’t know what they’re planning, angel, but this time we mustn’t be inattentive or naïve. Yes, yes, I already said that a few times by now, but I just want to stress this point, y’know.” He hiccupped. “Uuh, seems ‘m already disobeying ma’own statements.”

He scowled at the glass at the end of his gracefully outstretched arm as if it was the real culprit.

“What’re you looking at?” he shouted suddenly. The plantain lily on the windowsill stiffened, then began to tremble terribly.

“…There is one more…”

“They don’t make sense! … Okay, maybe that applies to me. You are the clever one here, always were,” Crowley slurred and brought himself in a neatly sitting position. He looked almost linear like this, all sharp edges and geometric shapes. An uncommon sight.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and tried to hide his beginning blush in the depths of his glass.

“There is one more,” he said, a little louder this time.

“One more what?” Crowley asked curiously. As he noticed the skin tone of Aziraphale he seemed puzzled for a moment which morphed immediately into a smug smile.

He leaned forward. His eyebrow jerked.

“Something I’ve missed, angel?”

Aziraphale released a shaky sigh and fetched something from his waistcoat pocket. It was a white little paper with neatly written letters on it – Ancient style with soft edges.

“You’ve hidden a prophecy from me,” Crowley said with a flat tone. The grin had faded. His perception was unmatchably precise as always.

“But not because I don’t trust you!” Aziraphale hurried to point out.

He hesitated for a moment with the note in his hands. “Maybe you should read it yourself.”

He handed it to Crowley who shot a questioning look to his angel. But he decided to trust and began to read.

A complicated mixture of emotions appeared on his face. He never was the one to hide powerful feelings well, especially when with Aziraphale. At first there was a deep scowl as his slit eyes scurried along the few lines of text. Then surprise appeared on his face, then in a straight order contemplation, incomprehension, confusion, then insight and finally, filthiness.

He began to laugh, a guttural sound deep in his throat. It was back – the genuine smugness of Crowley, something which made Aziraphale’s core jump at nearly every occasion.

“Shall I read it aloud to you, angel?” he asked as he leaned back against the cushions.

“No. No, you don’t have to do that,” Aziraphale stated firmly and straightened his back.

“Oh, but I will, nonetheless,” he grinned. “I like how that makes you uncomfortable.”

Aziraphale fixed his gaze at his edition of _Wycliffe’s Bible_ from 1382 which rested two shelves away.

“Go on then. It refers to you as well as me,” Aziraphale retorted with an involuntary pouting. He felt like Laocoön in his final moments, dying not from real snakes but from the imminent humiliation of one.

_“Reach out to wonne another, embrace thy bodies humanly … last secrets of our souls, to grasp the depeths of our existence. Let harts enjoin, feel the love of humanity in its simplest way, for thou are changing and the worlde with it.”_

Crowley looked up and seemed very self-pleased.

“You shouldn’t have read that aloud,” Aziraphale whispered with fiery red cheeks.

“Let’s say I was very, very right with the snogging and shagging.”

“Oh, don’t call it that, Crowley!”

“Why are you so irritated, angel?” the demon asked with a calmer voice. “It’s just a love message. Nothing about it.”

“You are right, my dear. I know you are.”

Crowley smiled a little.

“It suits you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your embarrassment.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to retort.

“And that you’re talking about it like no one else can. It’s a strength I don’t have, angel. It suits you. I love that about you.”

Aziraphale closed his mouth. His lips quivered for a moment.

Then he smiled.

It broke the consistent rain outside the window for a moment. Nobody noticed because of the late hour and the unfriendly weather outside. But it was there, before the rain took over again.

The bookshop’s lights burned until it was replaced by the dull lightness of a new day. Not that this wasn’t the case in most of the nights in Soho but this time there was a continuous whispering, laughing and clinging of glasses rather than a calm page turning next to a shuffling of sheets.

The powerful presence ghosted through the store. Its touch illuminated pages and leaves, sent the plants swaying softly in the rain-scented night breeze.


	4. Oncoming storm

_Monday_

There was a storm outside. It whirled old leaves from last autumn, forming strange moving sculptures along its way. Yet it had not started to rain, but the darkening clouds announced their intentions clearly. A few motorcycles were parked outside, and Ms. Shandee inside _The Happy Porker Café_ glanced at them through the windows and shrugged her shoulders. Luckily, she wasn’t the one who had to drive home in the oncoming rain.

There were only a few guests on a Monday at noon, cabbaging on the pink stools of the café. The bikers in their leather jackets were there, too. They were ever-present, occupying the slot machine with the historical questions. Ms. Shandee could not hear their distinct chattering and bickering but they were currently very hot tempered, it seemed. She sorted the remaining cups from the dishwasher into the shelves behind her.

The doorbell jingled as someone entered. She made her way from the kitchen behind the counter where a man approached. He wore a light brown polo shirt, darker shorts and a cap. On both the shirt and the cap was a symbol of a winged tire.

“Hello. I would like to have a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich,” he said with sportive sparkling brown eyes.

“Of course. Have a seat, I will bring it to you.”

“Thank you very much, Madam,” he said and tapped his cap.

 _What a charming man,_ Ms. Shandee thought with a smile.

As she brought him tea and the sandwich, he smiled fondly at the food first and then at her.

“Ah, it’s such a pleasure to be here again. You know, I was sure I was never coming back. But such an experience makes you mind the important things in life. Such as enjoying the day, a good meal and loving people around you.”

Ms. Shandee smiled back.

“You are so right, Sir. Enjoy your meal then.”

“Oh, I will. Thank you very much.”

She wondered what the man had experienced. Probably an accident. She presumed he was a delivery man or some kind. It wasn’t unlikely he had gotten into a car crash. Or maybe he had finally managed to come back from a consumptive family party abroad. She was much able to relate to _that_ situation.

Leslie took a deep bite of the sandwich and hummed with closed eyes. _Porker Café_ had the best sandwiches in South England. He was very thankful to come relishing them again. He made a mental note to take Maud with him the next time he had some time off. Maybe even do an exquisite trip to a nearby river to – you know – spoon and maybe fork.

A new guest had entered the café and talked to the nice waitress at the counter. He was told to have a seat, and so he approached the nearest table and asked if he could sit there.

“’f cour’,” Leslie said chewing and gestured to the free pink stool opposite to him.

The man let himself fall onto it. The table wobbled. He wasn’t exactly what you would call tall enough for his weight. With his brown leather jacket and a chequered bandana, he blended in with the bikers in the back who were now shouting at each other. Leslie perceived it had to do with a Reformation, Germany and someone called Luther. He did not know a Luther. But a Ruth. He should call her again sometime.

“Runnin’ errands, too?” the leather jacket man asked Leslie and gestured to the winged tire.

“Yes, Sir. International Delivery Service,” Leslie said proudly and tapped on his chest. “And you, Sir?”

“’m a lorry driver, eh. Takin’ wind turbine blades for a stroll all’over the country,” the man chuckled. His whole body wobbled with it.

The smile fell from Leslies face.

“Th-That’s very nice,” he managed and buried his face in the cup of tea.

The nice waitress came and put down a piece of chocolate cake and a coffee with extra cream topping. The lorry driver thanked her, picked up the spoon, and scooped the cream off his coffee. 

“So, what’re deliverin’ here if you’re international?” he asked casually to maintain the conversation.

“Very specific orders and packages. Some old artefacts even. Every delivery in the last weeks was extraordinary.”

The lorry driver let out an impressed whistle and began to scoff his piece of cake.

Despite his endangering job and unhealthy eating manners Leslie came to a liking of the man.

“Leslie’s the name, by the way,” he said with a smile and raised his arm.

The lorry driver took his hand with a firm warm grasp, gulped quickly and returned something, but it was drowned out by the furious shouting of the bikers behind them.

“I told you it was 1517, retard!”

“How about you shut your mouth!”

“No, you don’t google it, moron! Googlin’ is forbidden! Strike two for you!”

Leslie nodded in the clamour despite not having heard the name. The lorry driver was already busy with his cake again, so Leslie did not ask.

When the lorry driver finished his snack shortly after, they began to chat about wind turbines and the many places the government wanted them to be placed all over the country. Leslie nodded and agreed with him that this form of electricity was ridiculous. Especially when there now was an atomic power plant which produced energy out of a nuclear-free nuclear core. Who knew what they invented next!

As Leslie finished his tea, the lorry driver took a sip from his still hot coffee.

“An’ where to head now, hardworkin’ Sir?”

“Normally I would head home to my wonderful wife, but there is still business to do. And ours is to deliver packages.” Leslie put on his cap and smiled proudly. “I received a new order which is really odd. Not odd for me, I delivered packages to some odd people in the last weeks due to an order which seemed to be thousands of years old. But to get back to topic: I received the new order, saying I shall drive a specific route through South England and wait for the recipient to show up. Well, no, that is not my point. The point is, I received my order via our newest acquisition: a tablet message! What a nice invention. Just like the new power plant experiments. Tablets are so fast and reliable and ubiquitous!”

Leslie showed the man his pocketbook-sized tablet. He quickly brushed off his fingers with a napkin and inspected it from every angle before handing it back to Leslie. The lorry driver was deeply impressed.

“Wish’ we had such progressive technology in our business,” he laughed good-heartedly. “Then good luck, Leslie. Watch out, do ya?”

Leslie rose from his seat and tapped his cap. He had a mysterious expression on his face. But he smiled at the man, nonetheless.

“I will, my friend. I will.”

With that, he left the café out into the storm. Big raindrops began to fall as he entered the delivery van. When he drove off, it was already pelting down on the café.

The bikers stopped their debate and looked outside at their motorcycles. They wavered in the powers of the weather.

“Oh. Fuck.”

* * *

The doorbell rang.

There were steps and a quiet conversation. After a few moments, the doorbell rang again, and the steps retreated to their previous position.

Crowley was on the first floor, inspecting the leaves of another plantain lily on a windowsill with experienced strokes and turns. The framing rain drops on the window glass behind it created ghostly shadows on the surface. It took Crowley a while longer to examine whether there was a real flaw or just bad lighting.

The lily trembled slightly under his yellow stare. Then he blinked one time, backed away and sprayed the adjusted amount of water on the soil with the spray bottle he held in his other hand.

The doorbell rang again.

“…good you are here.” – “Thank you for…” – “Of course, make yourself…”

Crowley looked up and peeked through the gaps of the ceiling down into the store.

He caught a glimpse of dark brown silky hair and a fuzzy head next to angelic blond locks.

“…to drink?” – “Tea, please” – “Coffee, if you…”

Crowley turned back to his plant and eyed it gravely.

“Got lucky today,” he growled. “Can’t have our guests terrified by me screaming at you, you know. Pray you’ve got the same luck next time because I definitely don’t think so.”

The lily squealed. Crowley shot it an annoyed look.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. ‘The angel is always so nice to us. The angel caresses us. The angel, the angel.’” He got dangerously close to the stilling lily. “But. I. am. NOT. the angel!”

His hiss sent shuddering, mighty pleasure through his core. He could hardly suppress the urge to laugh maniacally. You wouldn’t want to scare the humans, would you.

* * *

“Ah, hello Crowley,” Anathema smiled at him while cupping the steaming tea in her lap. She sat in Aziraphale’s reading chair and leant over the neatly aligned prophecy cards on the table.

“Terrorised some plants again, did you?”

“I don’t like you tone, Miss,” Crowley retorted with a smile. He brushed Aziraphale’s waist and let himself fall on the sofa, next to an utterly astonished Newton whose gaze wandered over the bookshelves with sparkling eyes.

“May I have a look in the store? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Aziraphale didn’t react as he was busy rereading the texts over and over again.

Crowley waved generously. “’Course. Enjoy yourself, Witchfinder Private.”

Newton grinned at him in a childlike way and stumbled to his feet. Crowley watched him skidding between the shelves and was irritated by this overexcited reaction.

 _Humans,_ he thought.

Crowley smelled the air. He caught Aziraphale’s cologne of fresh apples and cedarwood, old papers, and the fragrances of Anathema and Newton mixing with it. Lavender and white musk. And a hint of Newton’s sweat. Nervous young fellow. But it seemed that he quickly got a connection to the depths of the bookshop. Crowley could see his eyes, filled with a distant universal gaze; his reverent touches on the bookshelves and the book covers.

Then there was a kind of self-mocking smile on Newton’s lips.

“Hey Anathema, as long as I’m here, I am unable to ruin any telecommunication devices! Maybe I’ll stay,” he chuckled.

“Nice, honey,” she said distractedly and picked up a prophecy.

She did not see Newton’s pout.

Crowley did.

He grinned with a filthy flash of teeth and sprawled out on the sofa, very pleased with himself and the situation.

Suddenly Anathema burst out laughing.

“ _which a bottom graced._ Oh really, Agnes. A bottom? Whose bottom?”

Crowley began to cackle.

Aziraphale clasped one hand on his mouth and got red – boy, did he get red. Crowley laughed even louder.

“It’s mine,” the angel said quietly.

Anathema laughed and blinked in amused surprise.

“The delivery man approached us on the evening after the averted apocalypse and took the symbols of the Four Horsemen with him. I… I sat on the flaming sword and had to get up in order to give it to him,” Aziraphale explained, deeply embarrassed.

“Ah, now that makes sense!” Anathema said happily and turned back to the card in her hand.

Crowley hummed and smiled. This day was getting better and better.

 _Just wait until I tell her about the shagging card. Aziraphale is going to die at this,_ he thought amusedly.

He glanced at the cards on the table and counted.

Eight.

Crowley’s will to tease the angel subsided and got replaced by warm admiration.

He looked at Aziraphale who was standing next to Anathema, musing and contemplating. He was embarrassed, absolutely, in so many occasions and situations that Crowley often enough lost his mind; but Aziraphale had a strong will and much more courage than himself. That was no exaggeration. It never was.

He padded the place next to him as he caught Aziraphale’s attention for the glimpse of a second.

Aziraphale did not contemplate. He went around the couch table and seated himself. Their legs touched at the whole length, black jeans against cream-coloured cotton. Now it was Crowley who had so supress whole body goose bumps. He leant his upper body away from Aziraphale and pretended to be absorbed by the prophecy cards, his propped hand covering hot cheeks. He was glad for the shades.

 _“- which a bottom graced must be returneth from the Living to the Existing Beings… a man who returned from the deade.  
_You already said that the delivery man had told you back then that he had been resurrected. Then it must be him. So, this prophecy must be about the flaming sword. Why? And why only this one? Why not the crown and the scales?”

“It was mine, at the beginning,” Aziraphale explained calmly.

“At the beginning of what?”

“At the beginning of the earth. At the Garden of Eden.”

Anathema stared, then she composed herself and adjusted her glasses.

“Right, right. By now I shouldn’t be surprised by this anymore but whew, I am. I mean, the Garden of Eden? You are, what, actually 6000 years old?”

“…when you assume that the time counter started at the creation of earth, uhm, yes. Didn’t we tell you?”

“No… Obviously not.”

“Ah, yes. I couldn’t finish at the airbase because someone interrupted right away at Eden.”

“You wouldn’t have gotten to the point by the next week, angel.”

“That is not true! I am very well capable of -!”

“Let’s come back to the flaming sword, shall we?” Anathema smiled, but her eyes were serious.

Aziraphale coughed quietly and adjusted his sleeves.

“Sorry, my dear,” he mumbled and nudged Crowley’s knee with his leg.

Crowley hid his face from Aziraphale by staring right out of the window.

“’s okay.”

“The flaming sword was mine at the beginning of time. I was the one who gave it to Adam and Eve in order to protect them from the wilderness outside, so they can protect themselves. It turned out I accidently created War due to my action. Not right away, I’m sure, but in course of time.”

Anathema thought about it for a moment.

“Oh, that makes sense. The message should be clear then: Getting your flaming sword from the delivery man. _From the Living to the Existing Beings,_ is what I cannot grasp.”

“I think it is a figure of speech,” Crowley suddenly said. The woman and the angel turned their heads to him. The demon was still looking out of the window, his composure calm now.

“The Living Beings, that’s the humans. Humans created War, first of all. She is a product of human’s fantasies and actions. The Existing Beings, that must be us two, for us being eternal.”

He finally looked at Aziraphale.

“I believe that is true…” Aziraphale said. “Yes! Crowley, how clever you are!”

“’m not clever. AND NOT NICE if you just wanted to say that!”

Aziraphale closed his mouth but smiled to himself.

“I am clever, too!” Newton shouted from the dungeons of books.

“No, you are a moron,” Anathema shouted back.

She chuckled as Newton shot back an offended “Oi!”

“ _Symbol of first misdemeanour, symbol of latest fiery chariot shalle bring –_ “she continued with the next paper card she snatched from the pile.

She noticed the uncomfortable distant stares of Aziraphale and Crowley and asked cautiously: “Shall we stop? I can truly understand if this is too much at the moment.”

“No, that is not the point. Everything alright, my dear,” Aziraphale said with an assuring voice.

Anathema nodded but squinted her eyes when Aziraphale looked away again in his nervous manner. The auras of both flickered to existence in her sight. She suppressed a sweet grin.

They both were staring at opposite directions, legs pressed against the other. Their auras on the other hand – 

“So, the symbol of first misdemeanour. I think that’s the apple. And the symbol of a very specific carriage – that must be the Bentley,” Aziraphale brought back the topic.

“Hm. What exactly do you mean? Shall I bring an apple and the entire Bentley to the apocalypse, saying: “Here, take this, you filthy bastards!” and throwing the apple against Gabriel’s head and the Bentley against the hordes?” Crowley asked incredulously.

Aziraphale laughed at this image.

“No, I merely thought of the piston. You stopped time with it at the airbase.”

Crowley jerked his head in surprise. He looked at Aziraphale and blinked.

“Then I guess the symbol of first misdemeanour is your sword, not the apple.”

“How could that be? You caused the first temptation, therefore you are the culprit of the first misdemeanour.”

“Nah, angel.” Crowley shook his head.

“I believe he’s right, Aziraphale…” Anathema posed while studying the card once again, turning it in her hands to get different perspectives of it. “Crowley may be the first temptation, but that was his job, he was asked to do it. You weren’t. You disobeyed your orders and rules by giving away a symbol of power to the ones who were cast out, rightfully or not, remains undecided.”

Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath. He was about to retort but his face relaxed again.

“Huh, I had the impression for millennia. I just wasn’t sure. But I still believe it was the right thing to do albeit I sometimes wrangle myself.”

“Don’t have to, angel.”

“I think it was the most courageous action to do. You saved humanity from the very first start. Still, to this day.” Anathema smiled at him. The admiration stunned Aziraphale and made him giddy.

“Blergh, don’t get him all flustered. He might pride himself upon it and then he is going to be unbearable, let me tell you!”

Aziraphale wiggled happily but silent. Crowley huffed and shook his head.

“I am still unsettled by the missing part,” Anathema continued after a pause. “I believe the prophecy was quite long, considering the style of the beginning Agnes is famous for. What are they bringing? Do you have any idea?”

They did not.

“Plus, we can’t be sure about the meaning of all of them. But for a start it is reasonable to go and find the flaming sword of yours, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale sighed at that quietly.

He openly answered all the questions Anathema had about the weapon, but he seemed strained while doing it. Crowley watched his twitching mouth and frowned but kept silent about this.

Absolutely bereft of ideas they all were with the prophecy: _The empty space is the theatre –_

Crowley suggested outer space, quite literally. In Aziraphale’s interpretation a literal theatre was the starting point of the apocalypse down on earth. Anathema was sure the prophecy was more of a figurative kind, and she was cautious for there was so much of it missing.

A hand had slipped into Crowley’s while they were musing and talking. He did not look at it. But the feeling of bubbling lava in his soul was there, nonetheless. It was fuelled by the firm touch. _He_ was fuelled by it.

And when Anathema came to the _shagging card_ , he watched Aziraphale’s firm gaze despite his embarrassment and couldn’t help but feel adoration for the angel.

Anathema instantly understood the message on the card.

“Oh…” she said sheepishly. “There was a prophecy with exactly those first words for Newt and…” she trailed off and blinked.

Then she looked both Aziraphale and Crowley in the eyes or the shades, respectively.

“I thought she only speaks directly to family.” She was confused.

Aziraphale gestured to the _intertwining card_ – the _notsomuchbutstillshagging card,_ as Crowley named it – and Anathema read it. Then the angel told her about the first encounter of a direct address to him.

“Guess you’re family then.” Anathema and Aziraphale shared an equally surprised look with each other.

“Okay, okay, we are all one big nasty family,” Crowley moaned and gestured widely. A smile tucked at the corners of his mouth – something he would deny if someone asked.

* * *

It was later, when they were all sitting in a little café that had the best cupcakes in Soho and talked about historical events, that something dawned on Aziraphale. Just now, the others laughed about how Hamlet became famous. He took a sip from his black tea, savoured it on his tongue a moment longer than usual, and watched the uprising storm outside.

He had some research to do.

* * *

In the late afternoon Newton and Anathema were about to make their way back home. It had begun to rain again, not unlikely for London at all, but Crowley had an unpleasant sting in his back while looking at it through the glass of the bookshop’s door.

“Thanks a lot again for having us at the café,” Anathema said to Aziraphale while buttoning her coat.

Newton was flipping through a book, very concentrated and interested. Crowley noticed Aziraphale’s soft smile at this scene. He wondered if Newton was the very first human who was actually _allowed_ to browse the books. He chuckled at that. If that kid knew what honour that meant. Maybe he could tell him in one of his best demonic ways sometime. It would be a pleasure, quintessentially.

“Honey, you ready?” Anathema stepped to her fiancé and touched his arm.

“Huh? Oh, yes, sorry. In a second.” He placed the book back in its place and slipped into his jacket.

“Make sure you call me if you two need anything,” Anathema said insistently.

Aziraphale smiled and, much to her surprise, hugged her softly.

She felt the warmth of his angelic presence. It embraced her wholly and divinely. She sighed.

“That is nice,” she said and smiled back at the angel as they parted.

Crowley was very put out, Aziraphale noticed with a look.

He smiled brightly at his demon who ducked his head and scurried away from the door into the darkness of the bookshop.

“Bye, Crowley!” the humans shouted and left the bookshop. Aziraphale waved them goodbye while they hurried to Dick Turpin and drove away.

Aziraphale sighed contently and swayed on his heels for a moment.

“Was that necessary?” came a sullen accuse from deep inside the shop.

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale was watching the rain outside.

“You hugged her instead of me.”

Aziraphale laughed.

“Ah, yes, come here. You get one, too.”

“Nah, it’s alright. Got something to do in my flat anyway.”

Aziraphale reached out into the depths of his bookshop and spotted Crowley’s presence in front of the collection of religious poetry from 1400 to 1600. He brushed the halo of him and got a soft tug in return. In the metaphysical caressing Crowley relaxed and sent approving hums to his angel who enjoyed this answer with closed eyes.

Crowley emerged from the shelves like a dark phantom with glowing eyes and swaying tie-ends. _Hot_ , Aziraphale thought.

“I’ll be back in the evening, angel.”

He stopped next to Aziraphale. After a second of struggling with himself he gifted the angel a smile. Warm, genuine.

Aziraphale hugged him. Crowley sighed at that.

“Don’t think I’m going soft because I just had a weak moment.”

“Never, my dear.”

They shared a final smile before Crowley disappeared into the streets of Soho. A Bentley rushed past shortly after. Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the screeching tires which should surely represent a friendly honk.

The presence and silence of the bookshop laid its weight on Aziraphale’s shoulders. He embraced it for a moment before he readied himself and walked to a specific book section in his backroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To know what Anathema saw, I like to think of this little fanart I was inspired by:  
> 
> 
> Apparantly, the image doesn't load. So, here's the link :)
> 
> https://quadlinda.tumblr.com/post/185779370688/although-i-understood-anathema-doesnt-see-auras


	5. Hidden agendas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely recommend you listening to the Queen song featured. For reasons.  
> 

_Several hours later_

It was late evening as the doorbell rang in anticipation of a certain demon. Aziraphale noticed it not only by the way the door rang aggressively in Crowley’s typical manner but by the appearance of a warm soul entering his core surroundings. 

Aziraphale snapped the book of ancient Daoism symbols in his lap shut and put it cautiously back to its original place next to an edition of कामसूत्र1 he had studied earlier. He had studied it two times already, first time being around 500 Anno Domini, second around 1380. But now he had a different motive than the generic knowledge of those positions.

Crowley whistled and placed something heavy in the entry area. Aziraphale could detect an uplifting melody in the whistling. Queen for sure. The answer was always Queen.

Aziraphale rose from his position on the floor, picked up the two prophecy cards laying next to him, and came to greet his lover. He was not surprised to find the demon among new plants. Crowley was carefully placing them from his occupied arms on a mat he had spread out to protect the wooden floor, seemingly excited considering the restless twitches of his mouth.

“Are they all new?” Aziraphale asked as he gave Crowley a gentle brush against his hand before laying his fingers on the petals of a blooming orchid.

“As I said I was at my flat, collecting my last plants.”

Crowley looked up to Aziraphale’s doing and added, “But this one’s for you. Saw the thing at a shop and just had to stop by and get it.”

He had said it casually. But involuntarily there was a certain undertone in it that Crowley tried to cover up with a firm cough.

“Oh Crowley…” Aziraphale was at a loss of words.

“Don’t. My pleasure.”

Aziraphale gave him a smile, pulled the orchid close to his chest, and Crowley was sure he would fade if he looked any longer at this scene. He proceeded to sort the plants, and then searched for optimal spots in the bookshop to place them according to their different needs.

Aziraphale watched his demon working in the typical concentrated and excited way while gently stroking the petals of his orchid.

His.

He smiled at the plant and proceeded to watch Crowley. The demon was whistling softly again.

“What do you think, good place?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley had finished his placing of plants and walked up to meet the angel next to the secretary. The orchid stood next to the plantain lily on the windowsill.

“No. Too little light even when the sun decides to shine. Plus, it needs a humid climate. We’re going to simulate that by spraying it with waterdrops often. You can’t have that here next to your workplace with all the papers and books.”

Aziraphale sighed as incredible warmth and fondness washed through him.

“Let’s search for a spot further away from the endangered books,” Crowley said.

“There are books everywhere here,” the angel smiled and looked at him amorously.

The demon considered this.

“Then we’ll make place for the orchid. Next to the door is an ideal spot. South-west lighting, enough space for circulation…” he trailed off. Gulped. Collected himself. “Yes. We’ll do that.”

He pretended not to notice the stare Aziraphale was giving him. But he knew that the angel knew. He picked up the orchid and carried it near the door to the now empty mat.

“If you put this table over there and sort out the pile of books under the window it’s going to work, I think.”

Aziraphale had followed him and simply nodded.

“So, now with that is clear – what is bothering you?”

Crowley finally looked at his angel. His face was emotionless, his halo was pulsating warmly. As so often.

Aziraphale stepped closer to Crowley.

“I thought about the embracing and intertwining…” Aziraphale said, his voice hesitant. But there was an odd whisper in it, dark and unknown, that Crowley was surprised with.

“I thought about more…,” he gestured, “human expressions of love, you know, in a kind of physical – “

“Sex. You’re talking about sex.”

“No! No. I don’t – How could you even think that I would seriously even consider…!”

Crowley grinned his grinniest grin.

“Oh alright, sex,” the angel blurted out. Despite being utterly embarrassed he stood resolutely in front of Crowley.

Crowley leant against the column next to him and put his whole demonic allure in his pose.

“Ah, come on, angel, it isn’t like we didn’t kiss before.”

He saw Aziraphale’s wide eyes darting to all parts of the black body in front of him. It felt insanely good. The grin on Crowley’s face became wicked.

“It’s different, and you know that. It is a display of affection, in the most intimate way; we are both rather clumsy when it comes to that,” Aziraphale pointed out. Crowley had to agree with his angel.

“I know. But this isn’t bad at all. I think it’s a fine opportunity for something I wanted to do a long time. If it’s good, we can keep it up. If not, then we tried and just dismiss it,” Crowley shrugged.

Aziraphale drew his brows down and considered it for a moment.

“Good point.”

“I know. I am me. I always have good points. Not only with my words.” He grinned, peeked his tongue out, and accentuated it with a sinful hiss.

It felt amazing, really amazing, to see Aziraphale getting all flustered.

He had the burning feeling that he wouldn’t disapprove physical intimacy with the angel at all, so he figured the second option wasn’t even possible for himself. Oh, whom could he fool - he would _relish_ intimacy.

But then there was a shifting in space.

Crowley tried to comprehend what it was but was smacked down by the sensation of something grabbing his collar and pressing skin on his lips.

Warm, trembling but firm lips on his own. Angelic. Divine even.

Crowley sighed deep in his throat and closed his eyes.

This was an overwhelming sensation, completely foreign albeit not at all.

Very human, very primal, and utterly exciting.

Aziraphale’s fingers fumbled with Crowley’s collar in an attempt to bring him even closer. He jerked forward and pressed his body length against the demon’s. They both gasped at that, breaking the kiss for a moment.

Crowley looked in Aziraphale’s eyes, his face muscles loose which gave the demon a bewildered expression.

“You feel…” Aziraphale gulped thickly, “…that, too?”

“Angel, yesss,” Crowley hissed and lowered his sharp lips on Aziraphale’s jaw. Aziraphale shivered at the sensation, craning his head to reveal more flesh. His eyeballs rolled in pleasure as Crowley sucked at it, inhaling the scent of Aziraphale.

Apples, cedarwood.

His. His only.

Hands found Aziraphale’s ribs, clutching at the soft body in front of him, feeling warmth, addiction, and lust pouring out of him. He left marks along the angel’s skin, tasting it with his tongue, engraving unspoken prayers into it as he moved along Aziraphale’s neck.

The angel shuddered, fidgety but loosened with pleasure.

It made Crowley forget. Forget his eternal occult nature, feeling his very human body become stiff and relaxed at the same time.

“God…” he gasped as Aziraphale finally got a firm hold of Crowley’s collar and crushed his body against the demon’s again. It created a friction that sent sparks through him, sizzling in a sweet pain.

And then there was motion against his torso and hips. It made Crowley break apart. He panted, letting his body fall against the cool column behind him, trapped between it and Aziraphale’s body. His eyes rolled back; his head fell against the wood with a bang -

And he moaned.

Aziraphale gasped and shuddered at the feeling of rising goose bumps under his quivering fingers. They spread across Crowley’s neck to his head, erecting the red hair like being struck by a lightning.

Crowley panted, and Aziraphale’s hands trembled uncontrollably, failing to hold onto the collar anymore. They slipped, as did Aziraphale.

He slumped and his angelic core retreated from Crowley’s. Aziraphale detached himself, creating a physical distance which was nearly unbearable for the demon.

Aziraphale looked puzzled and very, very unpleased with the situation.

“Did I…?”

“No, no, my dear, absolutely not.”

Aziraphale looked like he could pull out his hair in frustration, merely a few inches away from Crowley. It would be easy to close the gap, capturing the angel in an endearing kiss, but Crowley did not do it.

He was still leaning against the column, boneless and incapable of standing on his own.

He saw the refrained yearning in Aziraphale’s eyes.

“What is it then. Let me –,“ Crowley managed to say with a husky voice.

“I am an angel,” Aziraphale blurted out.

“I noticed that fact by now, yes.”

“I am incapable of…!” he exclaimed.

Crowley shoved his head in an upright position and stared up in the blue desperate eyes.

“What. Say it.”

“I am an angel, of course I can’t possibly say such things… or even do them! It is not my nature to feel lust and bathe in lewdness or… uh, can’t say it. I can’t even swear. Crowley, I am used to restraint!”

Crowley snorted, backing himself upwards against the column and away from Aziraphale.

“Yes, yes, ‘course you can’t.” He snorted. “Angel, isn’t this what your lot is up to? Bringing messages of _love_ and comfort, fondness and kindness? You should _excel_ at this right now. But well, apparently, I’m not good enough for that from you, am I? Still the foul fiend at some point, I guess.”

“No…” Aziraphale whispered with a quavering shocked voice. It shut Crowley up immediately.

“Oh no, never, Crowley. Don’t you dare to say such things. I forbid it,” he said sensitively.

Crowley inhaled and embraced the warmth of Aziraphale’s hand as it came to rest on his cheekbones.

“Angel, I am sorry,” he whispered.

“I forgive you.”

Crowley only smiled crookedly.

For a moment they stood there and embraced the comfort the other gave them, smoothing rough edges of each other, whispering wordless proofs of love.

Finally, Crowley spoke with closed eyes.

“I know you, angel. And I know those impediments of yours. But you were the first one ever existed to oppose your superiors, to withstand, to do _the right thing_. You don’t have to torture yourself further. I know that deep down you want to do those things. And you can. You know that, too.”

“Maybe I do,” Aziraphale whispered. The touch of his hand became heavier. “But I don’t know if I can do it like you, Crowley. Never could I possibly be as suave as you.”

“You don’t have to, angel. Never would want you that way,” Crowley said as he opened his eyes.

Pleasure rolled through him as he saw the powers crackling in Aziraphale’s wide blown irises.

“You are ssso perfect,” he hissed.

“Crowley…”

The way he said his name washed blankness over his mind.

“Yes.”

“You… you have to tempt me.”

“Come again?” Crowley breathed.

“I can’t do it, just now. So, tempt me…”

Crowley shuddered.

“Please tempt me, Crowley,” Aziraphale pleaded in the unknown dark tone from before.

It was lust, sinful lust, Crowley realized with a moan.

“Angel…”

“Yes.”

“Tell me how.”

“Indulge me.”

“Angel… Do you want to dance?”

Aziraphale’s lustful eyes were irritated for a moment until excitement sparked all over his body.

“Yes, I would love that.”

Crowley breathed against Aziraphale’s close wrist and snapped his fingers. The gramophone began to spin.

The demon pierced Aziraphale with his eyes.

“I wanted to do this a for a long time,” he began, voice hoarse. “I think it is very… erotic.”

His hands crept over Aziraphale’s body like two heavy snakes, receiving pleased shivers of the angel under them.

One hand writhed to Aziraphale’s hip, the other one along his outstretched arm, taking Aziraphale’s fingers softly away from the cheek and into his palm.

He closed the distance between their bodies and smiled.

Aziraphale’s cheeks were coloured with soft redness, his gaze with so much fondness Crowley drowned in them. He’d done since the walls of Eden through the time until now. And he would do it forever if Aziraphale and the world would let him.

The first cords of _The Millionaire Waltz_ began to play from the gramophone.

“May I have this dance, my angel?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed, lost in the embrace of Crowley.

They began to move, waltzing through the bookshop with Crowley leading and Aziraphale following.

 _Bring out the charge of the love brigade_  
_There is spring in the air once again_  
_Drink to the sound of the song parade_  
_There is music and love everywhere_  
  
_Give a little love to me_  
_Take a little love from me,_  
_I want to share it with you_

“What a wonderful song.”

“It’s from Queen.”

“Could have guessed.”

The chuckle of Aziraphale vibrated through the fabric between them and deep into Crowley’s chest.

_I feel like a millionaire_

“Isn’t it inappropriate to do this while Heaven and Hell are scheming a new apocalypse?”

He turned in Crowley’s leading hand before pushing himself firmly against Crowley again.

The demon’s breath hitched. It took a second until he could answer with a soft chuckle.

“Angel, we had our first rendezvous one day prior to our planned eradication.”

Aziraphale smiled at that with the beautiful blushed cheekbones of his.

“A fortnight feels like eternity in comparison, don’t you agree?”

“This feels like eternity. I would like to stay this way forever,” Aziraphale murmured and placed a longing kiss on Crowley’s lips.

Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s hand and waist harder but continued to lead them both through the bookshop.

 _Do you remember_  
_My love_  
_How we danced and played_  
_In the rain we laid_  
_Could stay there_  
_Forever and ever_

“It is as if you’d know this song thoroughly,” Crowley mumbled while they simply swayed at the faint sounds.

He had closed his eyes, lips ghosting in front of the angel, their foreheads connecting. He felt the soft chuckle of Aziraphale with the breath against his heated skin.

“You must know, I heard _You’re my best friend_ on the gramophone before I got discorporated, back then.”

“When?”

“Just after I summoned the Metatron and had an unpleasant encounter with Witchfinder Corporal Shadwell.”

Crowley stopped dancing and stared at Aziraphale silently for a moment.

“You heard Queen?” he asked with a sob.

“Yes. I loved it!” Aziraphale said with a tender smile.

“That is the most beautiful love confession I have ever heard from you,” Crowley cried.

“Oh, dearest!” Aziraphale exclaimed as he was captured in a suffocating hug by his demon.

He padded Crowleys head. The demon sniffed and drew Aziraphale even tighter to himself.

“Uuuuuh oh. Okay, that was necessary… Aaand enough of a surge of emotion for today,” Crowley said with a snort as he straightened himself and pressed Aziraphale back against his body.

Aziraphale laughed and brushed his fingers along Crowley’s neck as they picked up their dance again, Crowley even more enthusiastic with swirling his angel around. Aziraphale gasped when Crowley let him trip – and caught him in his arms again. The mischievous grin on his face was worth everything.

They waltzed in long strides, laughing at each other and exchanging gentle kisses when they stumbled over the carpet hiding the summoning circle. They stumbled often. Nice and accurate.

 _Come back, come back to me!_  
_Make me feel -_  
_Like a millionaire_

The pin clicked as it disconnected from the record plate. The original title of the slowly stopping record said _Le quattro Stagioni_ of Antonio Vivaldi.

Vivaldi on the cover was deeply surprised.

* * *

_Wednesday_

Newton drummed his left hand against the wall of the hallway. It had taken him thirty minutes of his lifetime, him shouting at the mobile phone, Anathema sighing and then shouting at him, browsing on several websites and an almost-breakdown to finally get the mobile phone to dial. And Shadwell had even picked up! But it went all downhill from then. All a waste, it seemed.

“I can’t help ye with that, laddie. We burn the witches, not help them with their nefarious witchcraft.”

“But the apocalypse is imminent. Again!”

“Aye, ye already said that three times, laddie. But I, uh, you know, I am a retired Witchfinder now. One time was enough. Plus, I am busy with moving to the bungalow with Jezebel. That is enough of an adventure, I can tell ye!”

“He can’t help us with it,” Newton said dejectedly as he approached Anathema in the kitchen again.

“Why were you even asking him?”

Newton sighed. “I feel like I am responsible for the old poor man. He had nobody.”

“He has Madame Tracy now, honey. And he is a grown ass man albeit he is a bit crazy and gonzo.”

“Gonzo?” Newton chuckled.

“Off-centred.”

Newton laughed. Anathema couldn’t stifle a smile herself.

Newton moved over to the cooker and shoved the eggs in the pan from one side to another.

“Yes, you are right. I should stop worrying.”

Anathema walked up to him to the kitchen unit and laid her head on his shoulder while she slung her arms around his chest.

“You should worry about our marriage, instead.”

“Hm, good idea! I could do that!” he said as he flipped the eggs in the pan. “But what about the apocalypse? If it happens, there will be no marriage. No us. No world.”

Anathema sighed and Newton was aware that maybe he shouldn’t had said that.

His fiancée simply smiled. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll find a way.” Her voice indicated that she tried to persuade herself with it, too. “Besides, we have two powerful moronic supernatural entities on our side. Uh, but I sure hope they don’t get to occupied with being lovey-dovey.”

Newton craned his head so he could look Anathema in the eyes. “We could get all lovey-dovey right here… if you know what I mean.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Anathema rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. But first we have to talk about the way you make flop two.”

“Uh. What is wrong with it?”

“Well, for a start: They’re burnt black.”

“Oh. Darn.”

* * *

_Thursday_

Wind howled. It scourged the sand and soil under their feet.

A lilac lightning struck the place. Gabriel emerged from it, straightening his coat. His eyes were furious, aftershocks of the lightning in them. He was alone in the plain, as he observed with a quick glance around. That made him unnerved. He hated to be kept waiting.

Not shortly after, or a while longer - one could not quite figure out as the place sucked in all the feeling of time and life - there was a spot of grumbling ground, and with lava dashing out Beelzebub rose to the surface.

She had a hardly controlled expression of calmness on her face. It was soon to crumble to dust.

With fierce strides she came nearer to the waiting archangel. Gabriel was tapping his left foot to the ground, spilling dust on his polished Oxfords.

“Wing. You wanted to meet.” Beelzebub’s voice was cold.

Gabriel flashed his teeth in an equally cold smile.

“So nice you could join me, demon. The last meeting was a true disaster so pardon me for not being entirely happy about it now.”

Beelzebub just smiled trenchantly.

“But let’s focus on the reason of our meeting and not waste time bickering.”

“Go ahead.”

“Heaven is equally enraged by the way the trails went, especially now with the ruse they played on us. It is inacceptable and has to be stopped. Aziraphale and Crowley must vanish, we are on equal terms here again. This idiot Aziraphale was fooling himself with his instant address of the archangel Michael when she appeared with the Holy Water. If it had been Crowley the demon would have had no way of recognizing her so quickly, for time had been changing our appearances since The Creation – and your Cast Out. Foolish Principality, always so superior in outplaying us.” He smiled sarcastically. But it contained humiliated pride and a murderous motive.

Beelzebub clenched her jaws and replied: “If you just called me here so you can strike with information your angel told me days ago, I will -”

“I just wanted to be sure you got it right.”

“You just like to hear yourself speaking. Pride, Gabriel. Not very angelic. Surely God is proud of you.”

Gabriel lost his cool expression for a moment, before he gifted her a humourless thin-lipped smile.

“The traitors, Beelzebub. Don’t get distracted with personal affairs.”

Beelzebub just remained silent. The wind howled around them, tearing at their corporal manifestations and clothing.

Gabriel continued as if he had not been interrupted. “Now that their very primal and pathetic state is verified, all we have to do is to remain calm like the past two weeks and just _catch_ the two idiots.” He made a snatching gesture with his right arm and smiled victoriously. “I know, you did not trust Michael, Beelzebub. But trust me. It is really that simple. And we both are rid of one big problem – no, _the_ one big problem.”

Beelzebub blinked slowly.

“No. As I said to your subordinate, we are not willing to cooperate. Satan himself refuses to cooperate with you.”

“But don’t you see? They don’t _know_ this time! There is _no way_ they could possibly know this time. Just grab them, put them into their termination - All done! We can still eradicate earth together after. Or against each other. I leave the choice to you.” He smiled generously.

“Now it is my choice, angel? Our choice. Ha, this would be the first time we are permitted to actually decide something, under your endless mercy. Keep your magnanimity to yourself. We are making our own choices without your consent. And our choice is to destroy everything without exception. Our way. No gutless capturing of two little traitors.”

She stepped closer to Gabriel who wrinkled his nose at the proximity. Beelzebub drew back her upper lip to reveal shiny teeth.

“I want them to see their world perish. I want to hear them scream. That is the justice we want.”

Gabriel stepped away and eyed her from face to toes and back.

“Your lot never was the one to bargain,” he sniffed haughtily.

“No, your lot was not – We were cast out.  
So, what are you saying – are you in or not? Remember, we can it run it without you. Consider it an unexpected kindness from your Fallen members to make you… choose.” Her lips spread into a crumbled grin.

Gabriel made his lips resemble a smile. It dawned on him that the tables have turned. He had lost his false trump cards. But he kept up his best poker face and stretched his hand out to her.

“An unexpected mercy, Beelzebub. I acknowledge it and Hell’s leadership. Heaven will run a new apocalypse under your commission.”

After a moment of pause, Beelzebub shook the presented hand. Her face revealed a hint of her furious satisfaction.

“Archangel Gabriel, I order you to gather your troops and prepare the battle on this very plain which shall be taking place in nine days. I will do the same. If you don’t do as I order I will notice, be sure of that. No pussyfooting this time. We will overrun you in that case.” 

_Pray for once in your life_ , Gabriel thought deep in his mischievous mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Kamasutra Back
> 
> By now, this is my favourite chapter.


	6. Something akin to redemption

_[rt s z l c] [ de th ] [mon b of gr Up.] [nas w a yl] [b e i]_

Hopeless.

Aziraphale sighed.

There were only single letters, slurred and burned.

He had opened the coffret where the original prophecy cards laid, carefully shuffling through them again, searching for missing meanings and context. He had been focused the first and second time he had gone through them. And Aziraphale knew that he had not overseen something. He never had. And for the first time ever he pitied himself for that ability. For the first time it was a curse.

The angel sighed again, rubbed his brows, and read the prophecies again. And again. He couldn’t perceive more from them. Where the text ended, it ended. No use in interpreting and assuming.

He was alone in the bookshop. The presence ghosted around him and rested on his shoulders, tugged at his soul to be let in. Aziraphale shielded himself more from it, not in a defensive way, but as always very kindly refusing.

There was something that tugged at him as well. He could not figure it out. It wasn’t Crowley’s presence as he was out arranging the last necessities of his flat. When he’d come back the angel and the demon would share the bookshop as their home completely. It would light Aziraphale on fire thinking about it. But right now, he was too focused and confused, absorbed in taking the words apart and back together again, rearranging them, creating different anagrams of no sense.

“What are you trying to tell me, Agnes? I can’t get the rest of it! It is gone!” he cried out desperately, knowing that nobody would answer that.

It was for the better as he couldn’t bear another being around him at this moment. He needed to think, needed to figure something out. He wasn’t in a rush as the apocalypse was still one and a half weeks away, but there was something unsettling rasping inside him. It was a certain feeling.

Presentiment.

Aziraphale knew that he should trust this prickle inside him. So, he wrecked his head again and again, sitting at his secretary and studying the cards over and over until the letters danced disco fox in front of his eyes. There was a strange vision of a Crowley with a ridiculous moustache and Aziraphale shook it off with a firm twist of his head.

It was hopeless. He was too tired to concentrate any further. For the first time since 1967 he felt like sleeping. It was a protection signal from his earthly body, a signal to rest and regain strength and calmness in mind. But it was not a necessity, Aziraphale was content about that.

He shut the coffret with the cards inside, leant back, and sighed deeply. It lifted his whirling thoughts a bit.

 _But for a start it is reasonable to go and find the flaming sword of yours, Aziraphale,_ Anathema’s voice ghosted inside his mind.

He had been thinking about that. All the time since their meeting in the bookshop on Monday. It seemed like a good thing to do, considering the meaning behind it and the unmistakable power of the artefact. But it just did not feel right.

Aziraphale fumbled with his fingers and remembered the times he held it. The weight and heat of the sword had always been familiar and balanced in his hands, for he had been trained to fight. Under the soft contours of his body firm muscles operated. He had been a soldier, after all. But he had decided early, exactly the time he had received his first celestial body, that he did not want to be constantly reminded of the time as God’s striking warrior.

So, he had made custom adaptions. Soft edges, thick thighs, layers of fondness. All as a mirror to his personality. It was only convenient that humans, from the very start, considered a heavy-sided body as a symbol of luxury and later joy in life. He did not care for the changing beauty standards as he was utterly happy with his appearance since the beginning of earth. The only person ever possible to have a saying in this had been Crowley, but the demon loved and cherished the looks of his favourite being.

To him, Crowley had confessed two hundred years ago in an old wine cellar in Oxford after three bottles of port, Aziraphale resembled the whole kindness and divine love Heaven had never been able to show. To him, Aziraphale was perfect.

It was only that Aziraphale had blinked at him in surprise that Crowley noticed he had said that aloud. It was one of the most intimate moments they had ever shared. Aziraphale thought about that with a soft loving smile.

Nevertheless, Gabriel had been right with Aziraphale being a _fighting machine._ He just did not want to live according to this fact. If Crowley knew about the scene with Gabriel in St. James Park – especially with the part of the gut – he would probably go spare and walk straight into Heaven to tear the highest archangel apart. Aziraphale smiled again, this time a little more… demonically.

Aziraphale had chosen a mostly peaceful, loving way of life. Crowley was fond of that just the same as he was. The sword was a symbol strictly against it. A thing of the past for him. A symbol he had given away in an act of kindness for he was sure it was much better preserved in the hands of humanity. He did not foresee that it would wind up in War. And now, Aziraphale was far from taking over the role of an incarnation of suffering and pain. He shuddered at this image of himself.

Crowley would know what to say to him, know how to reassure his troubled mind. But this was a topic he had to cope with himself. It was like the lustful corporal proximity to Crowley and his angelic restrained stock which he was struggling with since he first had experienced the other indulgences earth had to offer. He would figure it out eventually, becoming more and more the being he actually truly was, formed by his own ethics and the experiences on earth. He did not like change, therefore it was difficult to overcome his resentments. But there was Crowley. Since the beginning of time. He had always been at his side. _Their_ side. Unchangeable.

“So, let’s get the flaming sword, Aziraphale,” he told himself warmly. “There is change waiting for you.”

Saying it relieved the anxiety he was troubled with.

But it did not relieve the presentiment he was feeling. He just could not grasp it.

But -

Suddenly his eyes grew wide.

Hurriedly he opened the coffret again and stared at the upmost paper laying there.

… _because the wrath of Down shalle smoulder for two … thou readeth it is upon us in a fortni_ _[mon b of gr Up.]_

mon.

Could it be…

Aziraphale’s eyes darted back and forward. Yes, this was for sure a _mon_.

_Demon._

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment and took a calming breath.

_Okay, okay, we are all one big nasty family._

Maybe Crowley had been right. Because he was addressed as well.

The night went by while Aziraphale brooded over the remaining letters.

The dim light of the next day rose around the bookshop. It illuminated the newly placed orchid on the windowsill next to the entrance. It was at the time when the distant noise of the people of Soho came into the shop, a motionless Aziraphale gasped – and dialled Crowley’s mobile number.

Crowley did not even bother to ask why he had to come immediately.

“I’m on my way, love.”

It was the first time Crowley had called him that. Neither of them noticed.

On the secretary laid a large paper with crossed out words and scribbles, multiple question marks and arrows. But down, in the last free space of the right corner, was an encircled sentence. Next to it was the Daoism book with a particular opened page, revealing the symbol of _Taijitu_ , or more commonly: _Yin and Yang_.

Crowley rushed into the bookshop like a tank into a brigade group.

“What did you find out?”

Aziraphale just gestured to his notes, examining Crowley’s face while the demon scanned it with his slit pupils.

It is important to note that Aziraphale was not any more intelligent than a smart human being, but he had the experiences and vastness of hundreds of human lifespans on his side. His notes resembled that and could only be comprehended by eight other people. Two of them had won Nobel prizes, and one of the other ones dribbled a lot and should not be let alone with a knife because …  
Never mind, you already read that somewhere before.

But Crowley was not a human being. He had the equal length of experience as Aziraphale. He just wasn’t the clever one to figure things out in such a short amount of time. But he understood as quickly as the angel.

He looked at Aziraphale.

“It means what I think it means, doesn't it.”

* * *

_Unknown_

_\- It has stopped. But they will be back, we are never far away. I am creation’s shadow. You cannot destroy me. That would destroy the world. -_

They will be back. But not for now.

A decade is only a twitch in the movement of an eye blink regarding Universe. Regarding Death.

A fortnight in relation to eternity is not even worth to be named.

Death watches the atoms of the Three Horsemen slowly collecting themselves again in the space of nothingness. It takes the fears, the suffering, the blood of many human lifespans to create the image. It will take time. Not the rash plans of two head offices.

So, Death waits.

He has time.

If he has anything, it is time.

* * *

_Friday_

Crowley felt weak.

He did not feel sick or nauseous in anticipation of something like humans did. If anything, he was as unruffled as always. But something made his limbs feel numb as if they constantly fell to sleep.

He wondered if Hell was cutting him lose but remembered that they could not have any impact in his powers. His being was entirely self-fuelled and immortal except for eradication in Holy Water. A nice creation with a great last escape God had planned.

So, it was obvious that Crowley could not get sick or human or something else. But he felt as if he lacked something, as if a part of his soul was missing. It made him feel less powerful indeed. Maybe this was the human equivalent of depression, although Crowley could not figure out why he should be depressed anyway. Everything was just fine despite the imminent doom and Aziraphale’s anxiety about his presentiment and the apocalypse and… okay, well, maybe it was appropriate to be at least a bit uncomfortable. But his state just did not match the circumstances.

He did not tell Aziraphale to prevent further upset of his angel. He actually withdrew his aura from Aziraphale a bit to shield him from the lacking energy he was feeling. Aziraphale seemed like he did not even notice, which was uncommon. Normally he was constantly searching for Crowley’s energy. Both creeped inside the bookshop doing unnecessary duties like inspecting the plants for the fourth time or assorting the already neatly aligned misprint bibles in the largest bookshelf, not exchanging a word for half the day.

Once the evening had come, Crowley could not endure it any longer.

“Fancy a walk, angel?”

Aziraphale was seemingly relieved to hear Crowley’s offer. He dusted of his trousers and smiled at him. It did not quite succeed.

“Of course, just let me get my keys…” Aziraphale said and vanished to his secretary.

Crowley sighed and felt the painful nothingness inside him. He thought about telling Aziraphale as soon they went out of the bookshop in a fairly friendly weather but found himself unable to do it when they walked in silence next to each other.

Aziraphale’s hands were clasped behind his back like they always were when his stroll was relaxed and content with the world around him, but now it seemed to detain him from fidgeting. Crowley eyed the restless gaze of Aziraphale to every dark corner or plain space in London. Finally, he stopped his angel at a quieter street corner by gently gripping his shoulder.

“You are scared they are coming for me at any moment, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale let out a long breath.

“Yes,” he said more firmly than he appeared. “It unsettles me to no end that the prophecy ends with those blunt letters. I am a hundred percent sure Agnes actually wrote the moment or at least the day they are going to appear to tear us apart. But it is gone…”

“If it assures you in any way, angel, I am willing to jump in every pot of sulphur for you and even get – “

“Don’t say it,” Aziraphale cut in. He looked so pained it was nearly unbearable. “Don’t. It doesn’t help in the slightest.”

Crowley let go of his grip and was bereft of what to say or do.

They stood there for a minute, barely noticing the passengers walking by.

“I just hoped we finally could be left in peace.”

“I know. Me too.”

And with that said, they marched back along the streets of Soho in the direction of the bookshop.

At the café a corner away from the store Crowley grabbed a Latte macchiato with a dash of rum to go and nipped at it absently. “Maybe the best idea to keep our minds off of it now is to do the next step and get your sword,” Crowley said as they crossed the street.

Aziraphale nodded. “I am not happy about it but you sure are right. With the sword I shall regain full strength. A martial strength I loathe, but for the world,” he sighed and turned around to Crowley, “I am willing to -”

Crowley was gone. The cardboard cup fell on the ground and splashed its interior all over the pavement.

“No!! Crow -!”

The syllable caught in his mouth as a sharp pain struck his throat. And suddenly the world went lopsided like a scraping record on a gramophone.

The vision was blurry as it fluttered to existence again.

Crowley knew where he was even before opening his eyes. The aching light could only belong to one place, or rather space. His sunglasses were gone, and his head felt surprisingly light like his brain had been taken out. But the rest of his body was an assemblage of lifeless limbs which did not react to any nerval order. _Am I paraplegic?_ he thought and wanted to focus his gaze on his body. He was restricted by something.

_Nice. Feels like every bad action movie. Heaven is very original._

He could guess what they wanted to do to him. Not very original either.

There was silence greeting him, not a sharp sneer or a rustling of chains like he imagined it to be. In fact, he was alone. Alone in the vast of Heaven, surrounded by the shiny flagstones under him and the magnificent outlook to every metropolis of the earth. Crowley felt a pang of aspiration while watching the distant sights. It was his home. Earth was his home. With Aziraphale in it. And as he suddenly, for the first time ever, felt relief thinking about his Fall all those eons ago and the following opportunity to come to live on this magnificent planet, he noted the creeping angst clawing inside his core for never to return to it.

Crowley the demon could fear. And he did.

Time was a mere construct up here, and Crowley was kept waiting. At some point he wished for something to happen, just to escape his wandering thoughts and mind. For one of the few times in his eternal life he was glad that Aziraphale was not with him. He would like to think that he was still on earth, in his wonderful beloved bookshop, safe and sound, but Crowley knew better than to relish in false hope. Aziraphale was powerful, but helpless against the bundled force of Heaven.

Crowley craned his neck to the ceiling which faded in the distance into an endless blue. A blue which should resemble care, happiness, rest, redemption, or all the other nice things humans interpreted in this colour of the sky to calm their fear of dying. For Crowley it just resembled indifference. God did not care. It never stopped him, though, to at least try. Maybe this was his own salvation.

“God, you hear me?”

No answer. His voice did not even resound in the space of Heaven.

“It’s your little bastard, again.”

He grinned but noticed that a lump had formed in his throat which stunted the entailed snarky tone. Crowley’s voice sounded shallow without it.

“So, here I am again, in the halls I erstwhile wandered in. The last visit was nice indeed, you know. Despite a scheduled eradication and bad remarks regarding my better half it was quite a _ride_. I have some recommendations concerning the manners of a certain subordinate of yours, but that can wait. I can even fill out a schedule, if you wish. I am flexible.”

Silence. Crowley kept talking.

“I can imagine you aren’t fond of the way we stopped the apocalypse and all your carefully laid out plans no one knows.” Crowley tried to shift himself in a more comfortable position but was unable to do it. “Yes, we babbled about ineffability all the way through the centuries, but it was just a big bluff, you know? Well, of course you’d know. You are the Almighty, although I am really sceptical regarding your omnipotence and knowledge. And care. Never believed in you caring for the world. I still can’t forgive you for a lot of things. You know which I mean. I do not hate you for not minding the tears of a former child of yours. This is something I can make out. But I hate you for all the tears of the millions of your children you did not even bother to hear.”

The lump in his throat subsided into wetness streaming out of his eyes. He blinked once, never averting his gaze vertically into the blue sky.

“I would like to think this was all your plan, God. Everything with the last escape regarding the apocalypse, that the Great Plan was just a farce and it was your doing all along in guiding us to avert it. To make us feel powerful and belonging. To even give us… give me… the chance to _choose_ – for once in my life.” His voice was barely there. But it did not tremble. Not once.

Now there was a long silence, in which Crowley tried to regain control over his body and his soul again. He felt weak, left alone, deeply scarred from old wounds. And not complete. Nowhere near complete.

“God. If I can ask one favour from you.” He finally closed his eyes and felt the remnant tears fall onto his skin. “Please. You know what I mean.”

“I am afraid we don’t,” an obnoxious well-known voice remarked. Its celestial owner approached, and the sound of his steps resounded in the vast halls. Crowley felt his lips crook into a venomous smile.

“Finally. I thought you wouldn’t delight me with your lovely presence at all. My hopes were already dashed to no end.”

“Ah, the snarky demon. Always so competent with his tongue. How do we feel? Well cared for, I hope. We offered you our best place, for the second time, it seems.”

Crowley opened his eyes to see the archangel stand in a certain distance from him, smiling generously with wide figuratively embracing arms. The smile did not reach his eyes. They were furious with crackling lilac lightning. A common sight.

“I feel very welcomed, once again. This time you even know who I am, remarkable. You angels are a smart lot, aren’t you?”

Gabriel let his arms fall to his sides and discarded the ridiculous fake smile.

“I sure hoped you’d be more grateful for our warm hospitality, Crowley.”

“Sorry to fail your anticipation once again.”

“Ha, you don’t know what anticipation – “

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley interrupted languidly and looked anywhere but Gabriel’s face. “Throwing me in Holy Water, and then happily dancing around the tub in circles and chanting your spherical little sonnets. Yes, what a party.”

For the first time, Gabriel seemed to be dumbstruck. In every other situation, Crowley would have laughed. But his heart beat rapidly somewhere between his vocal cords and suffocated every noise. In the lasting silence Gabriel opened his mouth three times to say something, each time more furious than before. Finally, he clenched his jaw and just said gravely: “I am going to relish your dying screams.”

“Have fun with that,” Crowley commented lamely, but the heart in his throat stuttered. He knew he did not have a chance against the powers of Heaven. And this time he really was just himself.

Aziraphales secretary.  
_Yin and Yang.  
_And in Aziraphale’s fine handwriting in the corner of his paper: _Demon, beware of the grasp from Up._

Aziraphale had said he had a plan. But there was Crowley. And he had no plan. No Aziraphale. No snappy utterance of his comforted this emotion.

And suddenly it dawned on Crowley how Heaven wanted him to extinguish. His heart sank back deep down in his guts, leaving ice cold traces along his spine. Now, he felt real horror.

Movement in his peripheral gaze. The two archangels Uriel and Sandalphon came to sight, carrying a massive vase on their facing shoulders. It was made of glass, and the slightly sloshing liquid inside it made Crowley stiffen in his position. Uriel and Sandalphon did not look at him, not even when they settled the heavy object down with inhumanly effortlessness and backed away from it to form a brigade behind Gabriel.

Crowley gulped. Once. Only once.

“It is sad that such a mighty instance has to make such a fuss just for one single low-ranked demon.”

Gabriel was tapping on a tablet he had conjured and looked up at Crowley’s sudden words. He smiled briefly.

“This is not going to stay that way.”

Just as Crowley thought. _No..._

And with a final tap on his tablet, heavy footsteps approached from behind Crowley’s body. He could not see what was approaching him, but his neck hairs erected in a horrible way.

“As we know,” Gabriel continued conversationally while strolling in front of Crowley “you aren’t even the slightest intimidated by personal suffer or pain. I think it was just fitting to bring the only one to make you feel that way. Maybe it will make you see your mistakes and the utter humiliation you have brought by your unforgivable misdemeanour.” He stopped his tracks to shoot a measuring look at the incomers. “And maybe you will gain… something akin to redemption.”

Gabriel straightened himself and smiled again. “Ah, Michael, so glad all went according to plan!” he exclaimed in his unique style of warm deadness.

Crowley saw a female figure slamming something into a chair that wasn’t there a moment before. The something was Aziraphale. Crowley stifled the scream inside his throat. Now that was that. His vision went blurry. He was on the brink of lashing out.

“Ah, there we have the reaction,” Gabriel smiled and let his tablet vanish. Michael conjured a rope and bound Aziraphale, the _real_ Aziraphale, the way Crowley was bound nearly three weeks ago. Crowley tried to jerk again but was held back. He rolled his eyeballs out to get a glance of his boundaries and noticed chains of bare metal slung around his neck, torso, and limbs. Something hindered his chin from falling, so the only possible motion was upwards to the endless sky. So, he did that, failing utterly to keep his peripheral glance from locking with the sight of a barely conscious angel.

With a rustling noise the chains around Crowley’s body lifted and hovered over to Michaels awaiting hand. She tightened the boundaries around Aziraphale who did not react. Crowley could not feel any difference from before; his body was still distant and lifeless.

Michael had a stone-cold expression on her face as he retreated from Aziraphale. One could imagine that angels could not feel disgust or even express it as openly as humans did, but the truth was, they were even better at expressing it. Michael was the best example. Crowley could feel heat rising inside him. If he could he’d knock the mimics out of her face in a way she would never be able to have a mimic expression at all.

Aziraphale groaned, his feet jerked, but he did not open his eyes. Crowley's jaw clenched.

“Such murderous glance in the snake eyes. Where are your remarks, demon? Still feeling superior to the highest authority?”

“The very address of yourself as the highest authority is a humiliation, _archangel_ ,” Crowley spat.

Gabriel took three well measured strides to the demon and glared. “What do you know, little Crowley, cast away from the Holy Light of Herself. You don’t have any right to address to her. The only authority you are even able to see regarding Heaven is us, you piece of scum, but never Her again.”

Crowley simply scoffed.

Gabriel turned around sharply and pierced Michael with his gaze. “Make sure they don’t play act with us again. No point in humiliating us even further.”

Michael nodded, approached Crowley from behind and jerked his head back. Crowley hissed, not exactly because of the pain it sent through his neck but because of the disgust and fury building in his numb torso. From where Michael’s fingers were clamped in his hair a sharp pain emerged and drilled into his skullcap. Crowley’s eyes shuddered as he opened his mouth to a silent scream. A gasp escaped him, ripped out of his throat like his mind was from his skull. Michael raked inside his brain before Crowley could shut himself from it. But he was weak, so weak. He felt violated when she snapped his head back in an upright position and let go.

She approached Aziraphale and Crowley gave a helpless cry. He wanted to reach out to Aziraphale but feared he would get amputated from his remaining energy if he did. “No! Don’t you dare! You have _no_ right –! “ he howled.

It caused Aziraphale to stir. His eyes fluttered open as he took his surroundings in. He looked confused like he did when he didn't know where he had put down his winged mug. Then his face stiffened. He immediately caught up.

“Ah, Aziraphale, so nice you could spare us some of your precious time.”

The angel did not answer, just narrowed his eyes on his former superior.

“When did you get this supercilious, Principality? Where did you leave your manners, hm? Ah, down on earth, I guess.” Gabriel certainly was back on familiar ground. But he had a feverish craze in his voice and behaviour that was dangerously unpredictable. Crowley noticed the nervous shifts of the other archangels.

Michael cleared her throat. “The demon is himself, Gabriel. Aziraphale should be – “

Gabriel waved a hand.

“Very good. No, no need to do the same to him. I want him in tip-top condition to watch.”

“With all respect, there is something odd about the demon…” Michael added slowly, cautiously eyeing her superior.

Crowley finally found a channel for the utter disgust and heat. “Yes, because that is my fucking demonic nature. Can’t you wankers guess?”

Michael stared at him with the same motive he felt about her.

“Take me instead.”

Heads turned to the firm voice from the right. Aziraphale was as pale as his shirt, his lips a thin, expressionless line. A frightening sight.

“What would we want with you, hm? You are just here to enjoy the show while your oh-so-brave demon will face his extinction.”

Sandalphon chipped at the thick glass of the vase and emanated a clear, sharp tone from it. Hairline cracks appeared on the front side. The angel’s smile was dirty.

“Patch him. Then sent him to oblivion,” Gabriel ordered Michael and Uriel.

Crowley jerked away from their grasp but couldn’t move far. He hoped to hear Aziraphale protest, scream, say _something_. But there was silence. And it struck him deep as he was freed from his neck bound. The feeling in his limbs returned.

He looked at Aziraphale when Uriel slapped him straight across his face.

“Crowwwleeey…” came the suffocated cry.

Crowley tasted metal on his tongue.

“Aziraphale! Do something!”

“I don’t have my flaming sword! I can’t fight! I can’t do anything!”

“You can, you know that!”

“Use your powers then, Aziraphale, Principality of the Eastern Gate. Come on. Or is the fear big enough of making things even worse for your demonic friend?" Gabriel’s voice was toneless.

Aziraphale yelled wordlessly against his chains, then fell back, suddenly so much smaller than before.

"Guessed so." Gabriel turned around.

“YOU SAID YOU HAD A PLAN,” Crowley screamed while he got jabbed to the ground.

Aziraphale was petrified. His fever-bright eyes flickered to Crowley before his gaze slumped on a distant spot.

“I can’t.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I was wrong. How could I…”

Crowley had never, in their 6000 years on earth, seen this expression on his angel’s face. It shattered Crowley's soul. No resentment, no rejection had ever made him feel this way. There had been pain, there had been longing, there had been anger and hurt. But never the utter and ultimate blankness he felt now.

Aziraphale was giving up. He was just giving up.

Crowley stared at him, locked his eyes to this horrified face of his angel. He whispered something into the ground, unintelligible even for himself.

“Weak demon. Don’t you want to miracle yourself out of this misery? Did your powers have left you suddenly?” The last time the angels weren’t this derisive.

Crowley bared his teeth despite being pressed to the cold flagstones and retorted equally derisively: “Well, go on then, if you find your pleasure in it. Not so strong anymore without the help of Hell, are you? Against two entities, what a laugh.”

Crowley wanted to manifest his wings but was held back again. A sizzling power forbid it. In the halls of this plain it was not possible to morph into one's celestial version. Smart move. He earned a kick in the back which should have knocked the breath out of him if he had one. Crowley just smiled coldly.

“Back to kicking and biting it is,” he commented. “Kindergarten.”

He was brutally dragged to his feet and found himself face to face with Uriel. “What did you say?” she spat.

Crowley kept schtum and flashed his sharpening teeth. Blood trickled down his mucosa and across his ivories. He felt his form beginning to morph into length and scales but a well-placed kick in the gut stopped it abruptly. He coughed up blood and remained human.

“Don’t you dare to -”

“Enough.” Gabriel’s voice was calm, but Uriel stopped immediately. “Kill him.”

There was a faint “No…” Crowley could hear. He did not know whose voice it was. Michael and Uriel grabbed him by the shoulders and urged him forward to the vase. Crowley bent back his head to look at Aziraphale. The angel watched him, his eyes so wide and blank Crowley could not bear it.

“I can’t live without him!” Aziraphale cried out.

“Shut up,” was Gabriel’s only comment.

Aziraphale writhed and worked in his chains. Crowley watched him helplessly. Then he furrowed his brows and averted the gaze from Aziraphale. Something tense inside him let go. It was hope, he noticed dimly.

“Crowley! NO! I thought I had something, I thought I could be superior. I was wrong! I don’t have anything. I hoped we could swap our personalities again, but I neglected the abilities of Michael! I hoped our cores were different enough from our former selves to withstand everything! But you were right, we should have been more careful, not so goddamn oblivious. No, I should have been. I… I thought I had - !” His voice broke.

Gabriel and the other archangels had stilled and watched the traitor screaming in the chair. Crowley hung weakly in the brutal grasp and could barely keep his gaze on the floor in front of Aziraphale.

“I've been trusting you, Aziraphale. From the very start of the earth. Still do.” Crowley crooked his lips to a thin smile with his eyes closing.

He felt the grip of the archangels tighten, then he was dragged against the vase. The cold glass felt familiar against his hands. It resembled the orchid vase in Aziraphale’s bookshop, this one just a few times larger. _Large enough for a demonic flower_ , he thought with a grim chuckle.

He heard Aziraphale scream, felt his own breath hitch, his very human heart beating like a trapped little bird. Suddenly he was hyperaware of the twitches and perks his body had. The hormones and endorphins that raced through his blood vessels. The sharp lines and edges that separated his being from his surroundings and were only his. His own. So human. So wonderfully built. Crowley opened his eyes and saw his reflection in the Holy Water in front of him. Hairline cracks distorted his facial features. If he just had the power, he would halt time – to look at himself thoroughly, or maybe even to escape with his angel. But there was no power. It felt like everything occult had been sucked out of him. Maybe the angels had. He did not know anymore.

“Oi, Gabriel?” Crowley suddenly said. He could not perceive if the archangel heard him but continued. “Something akin to redemption, you said… You can’t give me that. Because I already had it on earth, you twat.”

His reflection shot him a mocking half smile; the eyes full of disbelieve about everything, and full of unconditional love for one.

His last thought was ripped away by the sudden break of the glass wall. Holy Water splattered over him.

And it burned.

Burned until a fuming pile of a black suit remained. It was over in a blink of moments.

Aziraphale screamed to the breaking of his voice.

Adrift, lost, alone.

The archangels stood in suddenly solemn silence, hearing the ragged screams of their former member and looking at the remnants of the demon Crowley.

Gabriel jerked his head to Michael who was soaked in Water. She met his gaze and kneeled down, searching the blackened puddle. With determination she stood up again and nodded once.

Aziraphale shut his eyes and bellowed until his throat was sore.


	7. Trust

_Prior_

“I have a plan, Crowley.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes, of course, but why can’t -?”

“It is essential. This is part of my plan.”

…

“Angel. Are you sure about this?”

“Utterly. I couldn’t bear losing you. - Crowley, do you trust me?”

“Yes, angel - Endlessly and eternally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intentionally short and difficult, but it has a major impact to the story :)
> 
> I promise it's going to get better from this point.  
> Love overcomes everything, they say. Here, I deeply agree.


	8. A fraction of the heart

_Five hours, 43 minutes prior_

Arthur resettled his reading glasses on his nose and coughed subconsciously while reading the _Tadfield Advertiser._ It was a peaceful day for the Young family.

Deidre liked such days. The Friday lunch time was one of the best moments of the week when Adam was back from school and Arthur home early as he was working only half-time on Fridays.

Adam shuffled his feet under the table and stuffed a piece of salmon and steamed broccoli in his mouth. It was good like nearly everything his mother cooked. Wensleydale’s parents made even nicer dishes albeit there were even more healthy greens in them.

He had a bad feeling in his gut. First, he suspected the greens on his plate. But then he felt the familiar distant fury wrenching in his soul. The distinct connection to Satan had not subsided, unfortunately. So, he felt his anger and impatience from deep, deep down. It had certainly not been Satan’s plan to reveal his thoughts to his former son in a weak moment. Adam could only hope that he was still oblivious to the transmission.

The telephone rang.

Arthur grabbed absently for the handle and held it to his ear.

“Young, Tadfield Six double-six.”

A pause as he listened to the caller, before he frowned deeply, opened his mouth to retort, but apparently came to a different conclusion.

“Yes, of course. Adam, it’s for you. A Mr. Fell. Was that one of the men at the airbase?”

“Yep, a friend,” Adam said. Arthur gave him the handle and watched suspiciously as his son pressed it to his left ear.

“Hello? It’s Adam.”

He listened with his innocent face, blinked a few times, and then nodded.

“’think I can. Could do it the last time, despite my faded abilities.”

Deidre shot a questioning look to her husband. Arthur was equally clueless about what their son meant.

“Crowley? Ahm. Yes, ‘course.” Adam smiled proudly.

“Okay. Bye.”

He pressed the handle back on the phone and focused back on his plate. He scrunched up his nose at the too quickly gone cold salmon bits.

“Adam, what was that call about?” Arthur asked, rustling with the papers in his hands.

Adam shrugged and shuffled his feet.

“Just a favour I probably need to do for him.”

“What favour? You aren’t involved in dangerous business, are you?”

“No Mum. No worries. He’s a real angel, and he wouldn’t ask a thing bad or dangerous from me.”

Deidre smiled at the symbolic address of the man.

“But what did he want from you?” Arthur was nowhere near convinced by the answers of his son.

“Maybe helping him mount a bike. He got parts of a very old model and wants to come over if he needs my help with it. Was helping him two weeks ago.”

It wasn’t a lie, technically. Adam would never lie to his parents. He just tended to be a bit figurative.

“That is very nice of you, darling,” Deidre cooed. “Isn’t it, Arthur? Adam has been helping his friends with their bikes for a long time now. It’s very nice of him to use his repairing abilities to do greater good.”

“Guess so…” Arthur had to agree grumbling. “But if that Mr. Fell comes over you two stay here to mount it. You don’t know what elder men can be up to, son.”

“Of course, Dad. Thank you, Dad.”

That wouldn’t be a problem.

* * *

"You can go now, Principality." The address was polite, unbearably polite. As if they hadn't just eradicated the most valuable being on earth and the whole universe.

Aziraphale stared at one various point in the distance, not there anymore. Not emotionally nor metaphysically. His whole body shuddered, the only reaction his soul was able to show anymore. Everything else was just blank.

The ropes and chains were lifted from his corporal body. He stayed seated.

"Aziraphale." The name was an order.

And Aziraphale, Principality of the Eastern Gate of Eden, looked up into the eyes of Gabriel. No expression was drawn from his gaze, no emotion. Just nothing. Gabriel was unsettled by that.

"What does hinder me now..." he said, and his voice was hoarse and broken, cold and totally different from the former way Aziraphale had spoken. "... to tear Heaven apart."

The archangels shared a glance with each other.

"You don't have anything against me anymore. No trump cards, no hellfire." Aziraphale rose to his feet. He felt weak but did not tremble. His face was a waxy mask.

Gabriel seemed... scared. For the first time in his whole existence, he really seemed scared. It caused an unholy smile on Aziraphale's face. His teeth flashed; eyes numb.

"Aziraphale, no need to precipitate any actions," Gabriel tried, aiming for both authoritative and assuring, but landing in frightened.

_Get out of here. Not good._

Aziraphale's crackling aura retreated into his core, and he sank a bit. Shivering, he grabbed the armrest of the chair behind him to stabilise himself. After a few moments and hasty pants, he blinked and was more than distraught.

Gabriel seized the opportunity to get in control of the situation again. He gave a bugged cough and gestured Aziraphale to the exit.

The angel locked his gaze with the archangel. Blue against lilac

Finally, he averted his gaze.

"Do you want to extinguish me, too?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Aziraphale. What a waste of resources," Gabriel huffed with an attempted chuckle. "No, you are expelled from Heaven. Forever. Not that you weren't already. So, have a nice life down there in this damned bookshop of yours. It would have been for the best if Michael had replaced your stupid position. But the past is the past, isn't it? Have fun or get yourself killed; I don't care. You won't interfere with our plans anymore, let me tell you."

Something broke in Aziraphale's face. Gabriel grinned victoriously. It was so easy to get in control again, to control beings. Aziraphale was just a lesser angel, why did he even bother, why did he even feel intimidated for a moment? What a laugh. He watched Aziraphale stumble forward, all along the long halls to the rotating scheme of the earth. Michael and Uriel attempted to follow him, but Gabriel raised a hand.

"Let him. He isn't a threat anymore. Just look. Without his demon, he is nothing. What a waste of Her Creation."

"What about the demon? Hell will find out, there will be no more records coming from him..." Michael said.

"They will get their war, Michael. With us or against us, I really don't care. Heaven is above Hell. Always has been."

Gabriel turned around and stalked away.

* * *

The stone did not fit. Just like the stone next to it. Or the stone under it. Maybe that one was the culprit, not the wobbling stone above. Adam bent down to examine his work and concluded that it wasn't stable at all. He sighed. It was so hard to build a strong fortress. But you needed one if you wanted to be a true Lord defending the unholy powers of dragons and demons.

Suddenly his face lit up.

"Oi, we could invite Crowley and Aziraphale over when we're finished, y'know! An’ Crowley could be our opponent! Imagine, a real demon fightin' our stronghold!"

Dog next to him wiggled his tail and barked approvingly.

Pepper shouted triumphantly over Wensleydale whom she had shoved against the ground. The blade of her mighty bidenhänder sparkled in the sun through the shades of trees. Well, it did in her imagination. The sword in her hand was a straightened wooden branch from the oak over the hill, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. Wensleydale trembled, nonetheless. "I give up, oh mighty opponent of mine!"

"I spare your life," she said generously and withdrew her sword to her side. Wensleydale coughed and sat up; his eyes full of admiration. "Such mercy - I owe you my life from now on! Say, what is your name, mighty knight?"

Pepper righted herself in the glooming spotlight she was standing in and said: "I am the defender and warden of Hogback Wood Stronghold, worm."

Wensleydale shot her an irritated look. "Your name is Worm?"

Pepper blinked. "No! You are the worm!"

Wensleydale nodded.

"I am Pepparius, the second!"

"What happened to the first one?"

Pepper shrugged. "Don't know. Got killed?"

Wensleydale nodded again in an understanding manner.

"Are you even listening?" Adam's voice came from behind a dreadful little stone wall.

"Course!" Brian answered who seesawed on a self-made swing. "But if he's a real demon like you told us, why does he look so boringly human?" Adam came around the wall and contemplated while Wensley came to his feet and brushed leaves from his trousers.

"Think a demonic appearance wouldn't go well with people," he shrugged. The others approved of that.

Then something rumbled and the half of the stone wall collapsed. Adam sighed deeply. "But if we don't make our Stronghold at least a bit resilient there's nothin' protectin' us from a true demon. Or a dragon. Or werewolves."

"Or vampires!" Brian exclaimed. Adam nodded. "Not even Dog can compete with all those bad buggers."

Dog barked.

"Don't use such words, Brian," Pepper commented with a wrinkle of her nose. Brian shrugged and swung on.

"Ok, come on," Adam said, "We get new stones from the tip and rebuild this and then add some -"

A flash of light dazzled them. Pepper heard Brian shout as he fell of the swing in surprise. And then a middle-aged man stood in front of them, shaking and pale as the crumbled stones behind him.

His knees tilted, unable to hold his weight anymore. He fell.

The Them jumped. Firm hands grabbed a cream coloured jacket. Dog barked furiously.

"Aziraphale!" Adam shouted, both surprised and irritated. The angel gifted him a small smile which did not reach his eyes. “Something’s not right!”

"What shall we do?" Brian asked as he stumbled to his feet again.

"Simple. We bring him to Anathema," Pepper said as a matter of fact, trying to get a better grip of the coat.

But the body in their grasp grew heavier. Aziraphale was losing consciousness.

"We have to do something!" Wensley shouted while he struggled to keep the man upwards. "Brian! Get Anathema and Newt!"

Brian looked at him, shocked for a moment that it wasn’t Adam who had given him the order. Then he made a straight face and nodded once, before bolting away. His long legs were really convenient now.

"Aziraphale, what happened?" Adam asked out of breath, slowly failing to support the angel with outstretched arms against his chest.

"...bad. Crowley's gone..." Aziraphale's voice was distant and quiet.

"Adam?" Pepper failed to stabilise the body anymore.

The boy glanced around quickly, caught Dog standing next to the beech where the swing hung from and gestured Pepper and Wensley to move to it. They leant Aziraphale against the trunk and slumped against it as well, panting.

"What did he say to you, Adam?" Pepper asked when she caught her breath again. Wensley patted Aziraphale hesitantly on the cheek, but the angel did not react anymore.

Adam blinked a few times before answering.

* * *

Anathema and Newt came running, Newt in front of her, she behind him with the long skirt clamped in her hands. They came to a halt next to the unconscious angel and three rattled kids, all kneeling down by the tree.

“What happened?” asked Anathema, panting, while cupping Aziraphale’s cheeks and checking for a pulse.

“He just appeared out of thin air, already half gone,” said Pepper, fidgeting with her sword.

There was no pulse behind the pale flesh. Anathema felt her own accelerate, her mind racing.

“No, he can’t be dead,” she muttered, grabbing wildly at the angel in the frantic hope to summon a reaction from him.

Suddenly her hands were captured. “Anathema, it’s okay,” Newt said while watching Aziraphale. “Remember, he is an angel, he doesn’t have to have a pulse. Or breath. Although that is something I still can't wrap my mind around.”

It calmed Anathema a bit, but nowhere fully. She turned to Adam. “Can you feel something coming from him, Adam? Energy, life, anything?”

Adam next to her closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. “He’s there.”

Suddenly a combined breath released from all of them; even from Brian who had just appeared, panting and steadying himself with his palms on his knees.

“Ok, we get him to Jasmine Cottage,” Newton ordered and hooked one arm around his shoulders. Anathema grabbed the other one and nodded as Newton counted to three. Struggling they brought Aziraphale upright again, and slowly made their way out of the forest. The kids followed them silently. It was a strange procedure that walked and heaved through the village, sometimes stopping to catch some breath.

“Still… with… us?” Anathema breathed heavily as they entered Jasmine Cottage. She shot Adam a look who nodded again. She allowed herself to finally feel some relief.

They laid Aziraphale down on the bed and assembled around it. He did not move. He did not breathe. He just laid there, white as the bed sheets, with closed eyes. He positively seemed dead.

Anathema kneeled down again and took his hand in hers. It was warm. She sighed deeply.

“What are we gonna do?” Adam finally asked, his hands kneading the seams of his shirt.

“Well, for a start, we have to wait,” Newt said while scratching his head. “I will get us some water and snacks.”

“How can you think of snacks right now?” Pepper asked incredulously.

Wensleydale jerked. “I could need some,” he said. Brain nodded, too.

“Ah, fine.”

And the four made their way to the kitchen.

“Adam, please tell me if there is something changing inside Aziraphale, okay?” Anathema pleaded and shifted her weight in a more comfortable position. She looked tired again. Dog wagged his tail and sat formerly at Adam's feet. The boy nodded and kept his gaze firmly on the unconscious body.

The rest gathered around the bed only a few minutes later, sharing water bottles and prepared sandwiches. For a short while, the only sounds emerging were sipping from glasses and nibbling on sandwiches and crackers.

“What did possibly happen to him?” Anathema asked. She had not touched any of the offered foods. “And where is…? Oh no. Crowley is in trouble, isn’t he?” She looked up, deeply alarmed.

The Them nodded. “He said to us that he… is gone.”

Anathema gasped, grasping the hand of Aziraphale harder. Newt frowned but kept silent. The Them shifted uncomfortably and didn’t know what to do or say. So, they nibbled at their sandwiches, appetite lost.

Suddenly Adam stilled, his mouth around a piece of sandwich.

“Adam? Everything okay?” Pepper asked.

Adam blinked. “There is somethin’ odd…”, he said slowly, put down his sandwich, and kneeled on the bed next to the angel. He seemed momentarily unsure what to do. Then he laid his hands on his resting knees and focused his gaze on the chest of Aziraphale.

Nobody moved a muscle. They stared at him, waiting, while Adam’s face grew concentrated, a deep sulcus appearing between his brows. His eyes fluttered shut, and his mimics began to grimace.

“There… is… a second energy,” he managed to say. Anathema and Newt stared at each other. “Dark, old; so small, I can barely sense it…”

“Crowley…” Anathema whispered. “Could it be?”

Adam crooked his head, his eyes still closed. “Don’t know… Feel pain, feel loneliness, consumin’. A vortex. Long, long, ancient. I… I…can't” he panted, hands shaking.

And Pepper was there suddenly, hugging Adam tightly. “Stop it!” And Adam’s eyes flung open, his body suddenly boneless.

“I was too deep,” he managed after a few stabilizing breaths.

“You okay?” Pepper asked sceptically. Adam nodded. She let go of him, still doubtful.

Adam looked up to Newt and Anathema. “Can’t really tell. Maybe it is just Aziraphale’s pain,” he said quietly with a shake of his head.

The sky darkened. Lights flickered on inside the rented cottage of Tadfield.

Anathema sat at the side of Aziraphale, sipping on a cup of tea and watching the motionless angel with great worry.

Not knowing what else to do she had removed bowtie, coat, and undercoat from him with Newton’s help, despite knowing that this would not make any difference in comfort. But she felt better with having done _something_ at least. She could not help him, just stare and watch over him. She hated feeling helpless.

With a deep frown Anathema took another sip of her cup, put it on the nightstand and straightened the blanket on Aziraphale’s shoulders. When she focused on his aura, she could brush the odd energy Adam was talking about earlier. But it was so distant and evading that Anathema would title it as a delusion of her mind. Even with Adam’s consideration she could not get a grasp of it. The only things she noticed were that it was dark, cold, and ancient. It merged into Aziraphale’s aura, flowing inside the large soul of the angel, not tangible. The golden aura was deflated, it was raw and hurt, isolated inside the mind and chest of him. Anathema could sense the great pain Aziraphale contained in himself and understood the sudden overwhelm Adam had experienced two mere hours ago.

He had assured her that nothing had been changing inside Aziraphale, and so she trusted her own abilities enough to inherit the charge of their angel.

A door opened, keys rattled, and Newton stood in the door. He looked tired and worried, and Anathema was suddenly glad that she wasn’t alone with those feelings.

“How is he?” he asked quietly.

“Unaltered.”

“That is good, isn’t it?” Newton sounded hopeful.

“I don’t know.” Anathema took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes.

“Well, it is better than losing his energy,” Newt stated. Anathema simply nodded.

“If I could just get a grasp of what is going on with him, or what happened, I could… you know… finally _do_ something.”

Newt gave her a squeeze around the shoulders. “You are doing so much, Anathema.”

She sighed and allowed herself to relax in the arms of him for a moment.

“Thank you.”

He smiled at her and planted a light kiss on her temple.

“Come on, get yourself a shower and change. I am watching in the meantime.”

“Okay.”

Newton sat down on the edge of the bed, Anathema raised and stretched her sore muscles.

“Everything alright with the kids?”

Newt nodded. “Home safe and sound.”

“Good. Be right back.”

When she returned, she heard Newton whispering. She couldn’t perceive any words but as she came nearer, Newton stopped. He turned his head towards her and smiled tiredly. She returned it equally tired.

“If you want, we can take turns at night.” Anathema laid a hand on his shoulder and closed her eyes, feeling very warm and content around him. “Yes, that would be nice.”

“Of course.”

So, they took turns in the night, solemnly watching the silhouettes of two entities and feeling warm and comforted by the steady energy of an angel slowly returning to the living.

* * *

_Saturday_

Her hand jerked. Anathema lifted her head. She must have fallen asleep during her turn. She stretched her neck in slow motions and sighed. Her hand jerked again. She stilled and looked down. No, it had not been _her_ hand that had jerked. It had been Aziraphale’s hand in hers.

She gasped, then squeezed the manicured hand. No reaction in his face. But she could sense that the aura surrounding Aziraphale had gotten stronger, when, she did not know. There was no dark energy in it anymore, only golden shimmering light.

“Newt. Newt!” She leant over the unconscious body and nudged her fiancé. He opened his eyes instantly.

“What?”

She told him. He frowned and propped himself to his side, facing Aziraphale.

And screamed out, as Aziraphale gasped for breath and opened his eyes. Newton stumbled backwards, got entangled in the sheets and screamed again as he fell of the bed with a loud pang.

“Aziraphale!” Anathema clutched him by the shoulders, oblivious to the whine Newton was giving. He came to the surface of the bed again and was both relieved and bugged.

Aziraphale blinked and focused on Anathema’s face.

“Hello,” he said weakly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“How are you feeling?” Newton asked as he pulled over a shirt and sat down opposite to Anathema.

Aziraphale made a face as if he had something bitter in his mouth and sighed, “Not very pleasant.”

Aziraphale was leaning against the headrest, in his lap biscuits and tea. He took small sips and bites, and slowly his face regained some of its colour.

“I have to see Adam,” he said, finishing his cup of tea. Anathema nodded, and Newton stood up. “I will get him here.” He shot a glance to his watch. “But, uh, it’s six in the morning. Isn’t this too early?” He looked puzzled and asked Anathema about what to do with a glance.

Suddenly Aziraphale grimaced and clutched his stomach.

“What’s the matter?” Anathema jumped. Aziraphale shook his head. “I have to get to Adam now. Might explode otherwise.”

“What explodes otherwise?”

“Me.” Aziraphale smiled, a little strained but somehow strangely pleased.

They turned up in Hogback Lane, Aziraphale again white as his shirt but nevertheless firm in his steps. A mighty force worked inside him, tearing his guts apart. He held it together, clenching his teeth.

_Demon. Angel. Would probably explode._

Yes, it would explode. But not now. Aziraphale forbid it. With all his force.

He felt a tugging sensation in his mind, and gladly welcomed it. Adam was at the front door even before they entered the alley to the house. He was dressed in blue striped pyjamas and had puffy eyes but seemed wide awake.

“Come on, let’s get to in the garden shed,” he commanded and led the way around the house.

Aziraphale groaned and leant against Anathema. She caught him, slung his right arm around her shoulders and carried him forward.

“Just a few steps, Aziraphale,” she assured him, and he hissed. It felt like his stomach ruptured, his guts turning upside down. The human vessel was not made for this. It fought relentlessly against it.

They stumbled inside the shed, lights went on. The smell of polished garden tools, petrol and soil filled Aziraphale’s clouded mind. He stumbled against something that was most probably a bike.

He slumped on an upside-down bucket with the help of the witch and let out a pained gasp.

“What are we going to do?” Newton asked, unsettled.

“I know what to do. Back away.”

Anathema and Newton obliged, holding onto each other.

Aziraphale looked up to the boy standing in front of him and gifted him a small smile.

Adam seemed unsure for a moment.

“You can still do it, I know that, my boy. I believe - aaah!” Aziraphale squirmed. His eyes quivered for a moment in a golden flash.

Adam jerked, then nodded, suddenly firm in his posture. He closed his eyes and focused.

Anathema felt Newton’s breath hitch and grabbed him tighter.

For a long moment nothing happened. But suddenly Aziraphale’s pained silhouette got liquid in some way, morphing and squirming, two voices, one high, the other one low, shouting.

It snapped.

Aziraphale gasped in an upward motion, just as something crashed against him. Something black, long and heavy. He tumbled over and crushed the bucket, a low shelf and its content under his weight.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried and slung his arms around the body above him. “Oh good Lord, Crowley. You are -… Oh God.” He felt tears spilling over while burying his nose in the fiery red hair of his demon, inhaling his familiar scent of whiskey and grapes.

And there it was again. Crowley’s warm pulsating halo, so small and weak, but it was there. Aziraphale surrounded it with his own quivering energy and held him tightly like he did with his arms.

There were hands around them, then human bodies, and Aziraphale sighed shakily.

“Thank you, Adam,” he managed.

“Didn’ kno’ if I coul’ do it, to be ‘ones’,” came the muffled response. Aziraphale looked down to find the boy buried deep against the two of them. Aziraphale nudged him warmly with his energy, and Adam leant against it like a drowning man.

“’ere was jus’ a fraction of him lef’,” he continued silently.

“I know, my boy. I know. I am so proud of you.”

He felt the smile of Adam against his chest. The angel noticed Anathema and Newt clutching equally at him and Crowley. He smiled at them and moved slowly, so they could give him a little more breathing space.

Anathema brushed a strand of hair out of her face and leant back, helping Aziraphale to come up again. They carefully grabbed Crowley who was unconscious but his face was relaxed and content as if he was sleeping.

They leant him delicately against the wall and kneeled around him in the old shed.

“ADAM? Are you in there?” came the shout of a high male voice. Adam stirred and opened the door of the shed.

“Dad, yes, it’s me.”

“What in heaven are you doing in the shed at this time, Adam?”

Arthur came in sight and was taken off-guard by the many people inside the hut.

“A-Adam? Better explain this instant,” Arthur huffed as he managed to catch his breath again, a hand on his chest.

“It’s just Anathema and Newt, as well as Mr. Fell whom I should help with his bike, remember?”

Arthur blinked at him and remembered.

“But… on a Saturday morning?” He quickly checked his watch “…at Six forty?”

Adam shrugged and replied innocently, “It was an emergency.”

Arthur sighed deeply, straightening his pyjamas.

“When will the time come when I can finally relax from your constant trouble, boy?” he muttered more to himself.

“Dad, you only stated he must come here at home to mount the bike.”

“Yes.” Another deep sigh. “I should start formulating my rules more clearly for my too clever son.”

Suddenly Deidre bolted at Arthurs side, lacing her gown in front of her stomach.

“Everything alright, Arth-? Oh!” Her glance jumped to her son, then to the other four kneeling or respectively laying adults in the shed.

“Everything under control, darling,” Arthur sighed.

Deidre relaxed. She had no idea what was going on and knew exactly she would not get a proper explanation from anyone, the least from her son, but she had been experiencing those odd situations for eleven years now. She was used to it. So, Deidre just eyed the unconscious black clothed man and said simply: “Now all of you, come inside, already. It's nearly time for breakfast anyway. We can talk about those circumstances later, Adam.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

* * *

There was something warm and soft on his forehead, the feeling of lips against his skin. It was the only sensation he could perceive. Where they God's?

There had been Holy Water, the eradication not only of his body but his soul, burning and fuming away into the void. The glimpse of utter and resolute blankness. There had been no Heaven, not for him at least. Just nothing. And indifference. Maybe that was the closest to God he had ever been able to get.

The last emotions he had felt were sorrow and sadness. The last image he had seen was Aziraphale smiling at him with those celestial wrinkles around his sparkling blue eyes. The last thought he had had was _I love you endlessly._

And somehow that had affected him, refused to let him go into non-existence, merging into the vastness of grey, losing his soul and personality forever, irreversibly.

No, it had not been his eternal love, he realised when he felt the connection to Aziraphale down on earth.

No, something of him was missing. A piece of a puzzle. A part of... his soul.

Bewilderment flashed him. He stood there, on the verge of oblivion, and could not enter. The empty feeling inside him was not only the grief about what he was losing - everything he loved, everything he hated - but an essential emptiness.

And Aziraphale had it. He had the missing piece, unwilling to let him go, defying the utmost power of both Heaven and Hell.

Crawly - that was his name, he remembered - smiled, despite being ripped into pieces the longer he stayed on the verge. Pain wasn't a sensation here anymore, but feelings, well, they could get up to this place.

And as he suddenly felt that this connection to his missing piece became wider and authoritative - so endearing and cautious -, ordering him to come back, he obliged without hesitation. It should be the only order in his life ever he happily obliged to.

And then there was nothing. Just the pressure of something warm and soft on his forehead. The ultimate proximity of the universe and non-existence was distant yet again, his mind and soul isolated from it. He was captured in a corporal manifestation once again, an earthly body with all its perks and wonders. And he himself was in it again, and down on earth.

He was Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuh, this chapter was a curse and a relief at the same time... Come cry with me in the comments... Hope you liked it.


	9. Aflame

_Wednesday_

There was warmth around him. Metaphysical warmth. Like a soft shudder, a cosy blanket around the hips, a floating bath in hot springs. And equally nothing like that.

He felt his eyes open, taking in his surroundings as for the first time ever. He stared at the ornamented ceiling, in his peripheral gaze the towering silhouettes of bookshelves. In his nose the familiar scents of paper and ink wavered, mixing with apples and cedarwood. His body simultaneously felt sore and new, and his senses seemed to take a few seconds or minutes or hours until they had adjusted themselves properly. It felt like his central nerval system needed to elongate its axons to reach and connect to every muscle in his body until he could begin to move. His head felt both empty and loaded with thoughts and emotions. It was a weird sensation, always had been when he had gotten discorporated and gifted with a new earthly manifestation. This time though he suddenly knew that this was not like the other times. He knew he should not be back. He should be dead - no - eradicated. But not only he was back at the bookshop, back at _home,_ but he was gifted with his former body and a finally whole soul again.

And something was pressed against it, embraced it. Wholly and divine. Crowley traced one hand down on himself, stroked his own skin, hissed lowly at the well-known and still the same sensation, and felt different, soft skin under his wandering fingers. It did not spark inside his brain with the sensory reaction but there was a warm glimmer filling his soul, and movement against his very own skin.

Crowley turned his head and breathed in the familiar scent of Aziraphale from deep between his curls and everywhere around him. Aziraphale laid against his collarbone, his bare arms and legs entangled around Crowley's outstretched body like... a snake. An armour, composed of an angel's protection and soft, warm sheets brushing loosely around their legs. Never before had Crowley felt this peaceful. The calmness of the moment dripped into his soul like honey, welding the cracks and splinters to something nowhere near perfect but to himself again. And beyond that.

Crowley sighed deeply and let the air fill his pulmonary alveoli and out of them again. He closed his eyes for a moment and smiled. There was a golden, shimmering energy surrounding his, the metaphysical part of the armour Aziraphale was giving him. It contained the warmth he had been feeling, and he basked in it like a ghosting cup of his cheeks and neck.

And finally Aziraphale lifted his head and found Crowley's gaze with his luminous blue eyes. The world halted, if for a real demonic miracle or just in his imagination he did not know, and he drowned in the depths and recesses of Aziraphale's irises, lashes, the wrinkles of the framing skin. He felt his eyes blowing wide. And just like that, he smiled.

But Aziraphale blew his breath away. A smile so wide blossomed on his face - it felt like a thousand stars at once shining down onto the demon. A thousand eyes wandering over his naked body, full of admiration, love and utter relieve.

And then Aziraphale sighed. And it felt like tons of grief, hurt, and worry falling off of him. Never before had Crowley felt such a consuming, all-containing awe for his angel. It was his angel. And he was here again with him. The realisation overwhelmed him.

Aziraphale turned his head back to Crowley's eyes and fondness spread out on his face. It was only when the angel kissed his cheeks that Crowley realised he was crying. He let his hand slither upwards to Aziraphale's jaw, caught it gently and tilted his head. It was an endearing kiss, soothing and promising. Aziraphale's energy fluttered, and Crowley held it dearly.

"You didn't let me go," Crowley said quietly. The words came out of his new throat, a little edged, but it felt like the very same old one. It was easy. And it was calm.

"My dearest..."

There were more words and more sounds without letters and even more sensations without sounds that Aziraphale expressed through their deep celestial connection. Crowley embraced it, let the golden warmth of his angel fill his mind, his soul, his everything, until there was nothing left of him that he could give Aziraphale anymore, and received the ultimate everything of the angel. And despite the whole tiny universe being felt and traded, more abyssal than any human could perceive, Crowley had the desire to channel it with his earthly manifestation in return.

"I trust you, angel. I trust you more than anything in the whole universe and galaxies and endless black matter. You are my everything."

"Thank you..." It seemed hard for Aziraphale to speak.

But Crowley felt the words slipping off his tongue so easily, never before so easily. He traced his fingers along Aziraphale's face. "You are divine, the most wonderful creation She had ever built, in your whole body and moreover in your eternal, infinite soul. You are the sun of a thousand stars, and if I had had your picture in my mind while I created nebulas and galaxies, they would be admired every night by every human ever lived, as stunning and perfectly as they would be. And that you are offering me everything of your being, your overwhelming love and admiration is more than I can ever put into words or my soul in return, angel."

"You're - doing it right now," Aziraphale replied with a thick sob.

Crowley smiled fondly at the angel and let his arms entwine around Aziraphale's bare flanks and shoulders.

They laid their foreheads together and breathed the air the other was giving. For a long time they just looked in each other's eyes, Aziraphale blinking more, Crowley blinking less.

"Tell me your plan, Principality," Crowley murmured lowly. Aziraphale shuddered at the address, not because of the word but the veneration the demon put in it. It was the highest appraisal and worship Aziraphale could imagine, coming from Crowley. "You refused to let me go into the puddle of goo. How did you manage to... pick out a shard of my soul?"

Aziraphale shifted so he could face Crowley from his propped elbow. He attempted a smile, failed, and looked strained. "You know, I - I - At the beginning... I was thinking about everything that had happened between us - not only in the last three weeks - in our centuries of living here. And the contact with Miss Device and Adam and the others. All the changes that's been around us. I figured we changed with them, and apparently it was like that. You remember Ms. Device's talking about our auras? They are different, maybe they were from the beginning of our time, maybe they have been changing, Crowley. I believe the latter. We can be who we want to be, my dear. And we have been slowly becoming sovereign to our former authorities. We always suspected that, you even earlier than me for I was hell of restrained," Crowley grinned at that, "but we didn't even think about what that made with our cores. With our existence. I've been thinking about it for a long time now, and I had much time with you laying unconscious here beside me, to contemplate whether this is according or adverse to God's will. I concluded -" He paused for a moment. "And I concluded that She wanted us to choose, Crowley. As the only beings of Her divine creation to do so. Because that is our doing. A mixture of our ethereal origin and our experience and changes on earth. She gave us the ultimate freedom, my dear. To choose."

Crowley closed his eyes and felt a crackling smile appear on his lips. There were no words but Aziraphale shuddered and understood.

"Oh Crowley," he breathed slowly and brushed his fingers over the demon's neck, caressed and admired him. "I didn't know -"

"Y'know, believing in God was something I always loathed about me. Despite gotten cut from Her benediction and falling into pain and agony I found myself talking, not snapping at Her, remembering, not cursing Her image. That is something a demon does not do."

"But you did. Even more than me, my dear." Aziraphale smiled now. "It was all Her plan. And She loves you still."

"Okay, all right, I believe that's enough of Her doing, isn't it?" Crowley remarked with a snarl but betrayed his words with a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

His face grew soft again. "And how about _your_ doing?"

Aziraphale closed his eyes as Crowley let his left hand dance over the curves of his collarbone and pectoral muscles.

"Ah, yes. The plan." Aziraphale drew his brows together as if he was in pain, eyes still closed. "Do you remember the Harry Potter series of J. K. Rowling? Of this century."

Crowley stilled his movements and looked up to Aziraphale in bewilderment. "Was it that fiction series about wand-magic and a school about it named 'pig' or something?"

Despite his unsettlement Aziraphale chuckled and opened his eyes. "Yes, quite, I think."

"Are you trying to make fun of me?"

"No, my dear, quite the opposite." Aziraphale's chuckle subsided.

"You're making less and less sense. You sure you're alright?" Crowley tugged at Aziraphale's core. The angel sighed contently and nodded. "I am sure. Don't worry, I'll explain.

"On Thursday night, I brooded over the shred _Demon_ , b _eware of the grasp from Up_ and the _Yin and Yang_ symbol. I figured it connected somewhere. I mean, it is clear that we both represent the symbol perfectly - I am the white part with a little bastard in it and you are the black part with a spark of goodness." Aziraphale smiled when Crowley did not flinch at the praise but hummed contemplating. "Of course the saga about the Chosen Boy and his adversary, Lord Voldemort, is fictional but while I thought about the fundamental nature of changes and appearances, I thought about yours."

"What does that mean?" Crowley asked quietly and brushed his fingers down to Aziraphale's waist.

"You are a snake. And that's when the connection flared."

Aziraphale could sense Crowley's mind racing, trying to knot threads, cutting them loose and connecting them again. He was quick but never as quick as a bookworm-angel.

"Horcruxes," Aziraphale said quietly.

"You still have to explain it to me, angel."

"Voldemort split his soul in six Horcruxes to gain immortality. He hid those pieces of his soul in various objects and even living beings - the snake Nagini. And despite the fact that it is a fictional story, I believed... if you'd pick a piece of a being and place it into someone else, could it save the being from extinction?"

Crowley's mind clicked. He looked up at Aziraphale again, this time in true horror.

"Wh- You... You planned to save me based on the wanton change of a draft from a _children's_ _fictional book_? How - what? What where you -? Are you mad?"

"It worked." Aziraphale smiled; and it was like a the sun rising.

Crowley gulped. "It worked," he whispered incredulously. "It worked. It bloody worked." He chuckled unbelievingly. "You wily insane angel." He clasped his hand against his forehead and laughed, a bit forced.

"So, when I asked you if you trusted me and you, my dearest, gave me more proof I could ever imagine, I felt your soul opening for me in a way as never before. And it hurt me so much to see all your pain and despair, and it filled me with overwhelming love to sense yours towards me and... the world." He smiled again and stroked his fingers through the fiery red hair of his demon. Crowley lowered his own hand from his forehead and cupped Aziraphale's cheek, looking at him with half-closed but focused eyes.

"And I realized it worked," the angel whispered and pressed a kiss on Crowley's temple. "But it hurt. It hurt to see you like a puppet on a string. It hurt to know you would get dragged away, it hurt to - to see you in the hands of those monsters... it... hurt to see -" Aziraphale choked on his words. Crowley said nothing, just wrapped his arms both tenderly and firmly around the quivering angel and pressed him against his body. He stroked light patterns on Aziraphale's back and soothed his soul with equal slow caresses.

"My angel. You are so magnificent. So brave," he murmured, no soothing in his voice, no sweet nothings, but firm admiration.

"Aziraphale. Look at me."

The angel obliged, cumbersomely opening his eyes and lifting his head.

"Now I know why you couldn't tell... Your whole - Everything you did was so brave, angel. This - all - is something I could never think of." He smiled and placed a warm kiss on Aziraphale's lips. "And it was a hideously stupid thing to do," he added with half a grin.

"I know, my dear," Aziraphale chuckled and nuzzled his face in the red hair just behind the snake tattoo and perfectly shaped ear.

Crowley hummed in agreement, never stopping his movements across Aziraphale's back. With lightning sparks on his fingertips he drew the symbol _Taijitu_ on the soft skin. It stayed for a few moments and then vanished into tiny flakes of ash, swirling away with the soft breeze that swayed through the first floor.

"Nonetheless, don't you think your show with Gabriel was a bit over the top?" Aziraphale asked reprovingly.

Crowley huffed and laughed again. "Nope. That bastard. Never thought I'd see him this scared, though. It was an appropriate expression on his face." In the blink of a moment he got serious again. His voice was dark. "He shall fear you. I gave him the taste of that. No one threatens you. No one, angel."

Aziraphale shuddered uncomfortably at the tone of Crowley. It was a quiet tone, and deadly in its quietness. More dangerous than any shout and cry he had ever heard from the hot-tempered demon.

"Regardless, it was for the best that I stopped you, my dear. It may have revealed our delicate composition at the moment."

"Yes. You're right, angel. Thank you, I guess."

"Everything for you. My protective, wonderful, kind demon." Aziraphale traced feather-light brushes over the lean body next to him. Maybe they were feathers, maybe not.

"Nah, 'm not."

Aziraphale smiled and fell silent.

Crowley stiffened and nudged Aziraphale slightly. "'ver said y'sh'p"

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that?"

"Said don't stop..." he grumbled.

The angel laughed softly, and it felt like the star Epsilon Eridani brushing its distant light over Crowley's whole body.

"You are the loveliest, most gorgeous being that ever graced the surface of earth, my dear. Since Eden I have been admiring your appearances, your kind nature, your magnificent style. You are a star on your own, Crowley, no need for Alpha Centauri and all the others. I only want you."

"Yesss..." Crowley hissed, the only word he could manage to come out coherently. The rest slurred into unintelligible consonants. 

Aziraphale bridged the gap between their lips with a soft motion and made the vortex of demonic syllables stop. He parted his lips and invited the demon inside his mouth. It felt like homecoming; and maybe it was just that.

They laid there for a few moments, embracing each other and tasting the electric cosmical sparks the connection of their tongues engendered. Crowley wrapped himself in an inhuman way around his angel, trying to cover every bit of skin of him and eagerly grabbing at the various parts he just couldn't spread over. Aziraphale chuckled at the attempt and happily devoted his body to Crowley's both playful and sensual movements. He resembled a snake in his still human body. _A wonderful composition_ , Aziraphale thought as he fondled the twisted flank of the demon around his own stomach. He felt the meandering movements of ribs against his right shoulder and a sinful wet hiss at his earlobe from behind. Aziraphale shivered and sighed.

"They won't ever again get their handsss on you, angel. I put the Azirafear into them..." the demon sizzled against the soft jaw line. "My handsss on you are better."

"Yes, they are," Aziraphale whispered contently.

"Of course..."

Aziraphale heard the wide grin in it.

"But - my dear - would you really have done...? I mean - tearing Heaven apart?"

Crowley stilled for a moment, then drew himself tighter around Aziraphale.

"I would have," he agreed. "If you didn't stop me Up there, I would have ripped the cores out of the archangels. All at once."

"Crowley..."

"I know." He planted a kiss on Aziraphale's hairline.

"We both would be dead."

"I know. I haven't ever denied your statement 'not a bit competent'."

A sigh. "I love you, my dear."

"...you, too. Nothing will break us apart anymore, angel."

Aziraphale nuzzled his head backwards against Crowleys sharp cheekbone. "Yes, I will believe that."

"Do that, my love."

"What?"

"I said, do that."

"No, I mean 'my love'."

"You are." Crowley smiled.

Aziraphale sighed again, longer and softer.

For a moment nobody said a word, just exchanging wordless admiration, blandishments, and cuddles.

Finally Crowley shifted. "Tell me what happened after our escape from Heaven. The memory from inside you is ripped and torn." Aziraphale brushed his fingers along the sharp lines of Crowley's body and the demon followed the movements with his gaze. "Somehow I got back my old body. And my soul did kind of... regrow. I guess Adam's doing?"

"The part of the body, yes. With the help of the kids and Miss Device and Mister Pulsifer. Your soul... I don't know. It had been getting stronger each hour I laid by you."

"Tell me the details." Crowley unwound himself from the upper part of Aziraphale's body so he could face him.

The angel stared in the golden eyes for a moment, then cleared his throat quietly and began to talk. He noticed Crowley's change of expression when he told him about the rescue and care of him. But all the time during the narrative - from Aziraphale's arrival in Hogback Wood until the lovely breakfast at the Young's and a quiet exhausted lift to the bookshop Newton was adamant to give - Crowley's slit eyes stared motionless at a point far away, and with each sentence that Aziraphale said his gaze grew steadier and more confirmed of something Aziraphale could not grasp.

"Angel," he said when Aziraphale had finished. "Angel, I spoke to God when I was Up there."

There was a moment of silence.

"She revealed herself to you?" came the cautious, fragile question of the angel.

"No. I prayed," Crowley replied. "And I prayed to Her that they would not harm you. And I think that is the first time She listened. She had listened to my prayer. She kept you safe, my love..." His voice quavered. For the first time since his awakening.

"But they harmed you." The words were barely a whisper, barely even there. Crowley heard them. "They _eradicated_ you instead. Crowley - I, I nearly..." he became silent.

Crowley looked deep into his eyes, locked his gaze into the blue endless oceans and imprinted the pattern of his golden bright irises into Aziraphale.

"Not anymore, angel. And never again."

"I will take care of that, my dear."

Aziraphale imprinted the pattern of Crowley's lips next.

* * *

The direction indicator went on inside the van. Cars and trucks rushed past it as it decelerated and turned off the M3 at the exit just in front of the M25. Leslie leant forward to get a better look to the left and right and made his way onto the country road towards a little village named Ottershaw. He had seen many villages and cities in the past one and a half week while driving across the eastern part of south London, places he's never been to and highways he otherwise would not even put a tyre on. It had been an interesting journey across his very own country. The only two thing that he was missing was Maud at his side and a clear destination.

Now, his tablet showed a clear navigation to Ottershaw. The directions had been always clear, that hadn't been the problem. But the destinations had been changing every now and then; sometimes when he was staying a few hours or overnight at a place, sometimes when he was halfway to another. It was confusing. The first times Leslie had been unnerved but after the fourth change of destination he had simply accepted his fate and done as he was told. It had turned the journey into joy immediately.

He had been driving nearly 600 miles since he started his tour in London and had returned to it once just to get on again. He had called the office to ask if something was not right with his tablet but they confirmed the correct function of their device. As he asked them about the constant changes of cities and villages on his route he could perceive a shrug over the phone and a mild investigation only to hear that the orders came from an unknown but trustworthy client. Leslie had thought about that for a bit while rushing down the A12 towards London again. But he had decided shortly after that to not think about that anymore. He was used far worse. It just seemed to never get boring in his job. That's why he had chosen it in the first place.

Right now he drove the van along the lovely countryside and admired the beauty of nature around him. Ottershaw welcomed him shortly after, and the tablet directed Leslie's turning on the steering wheel into the heart of the town. The address it was showing was a little pub, framed lovely by old half-timbered houses and well cared for pavements with nice little ornaments on a few cobbles.

Leslie parked the van in a spot a little further away. He groaned as he got out of the seat and stretched his sore limbs, then sighed contently at the lowering but still warm sun on his stomach. The quiet surroundings were a bliss against the constant hum and swoosh of cars on the highway. Leslie disengaged the tablet from its holder and took it outside, then opened the backside of his van and brought out a light-brown carton, the only charge he was driving around. With both pieces under his left arm he marched to the pub, whistling along the way and enjoying to use his legs for something different than stepping on pedals.

The little pub had no name, just the big blunt letters _PUB_ and an equally spare but warm interior. It felt like the _Porter's Café_. Leslie smiled at the memory of the lorry driver. Hopefully he had delivered his wind turbine blades safely and successfully by now.

A few people sat around, quietly chatting and looking up as Leslie entered. They mustered him for a moment, then returned to their previous occupation. Leslie chose from the many free tables one which was clearly visible both from the entrance and through the windows next to it. The seat was a welcomed diversion from the cushions of the van. He sighed again. A headache made its way to Leslie's consciousness. He knew that reaction of his body when he got a short break.

A man with a monstrous belly and moustache marched up to him from behind the bar.

"What's it be?" he roared with a deep voice.

Leslie ordered an apple spritzer and earned a taxing glance over his figure, then a disbelieving headshake from the man and the magnificent moustache at if it was a person on its own. Leslie eyed his own appearance and wondered what was wrong about it. Oh, he should put down his cap. This was a gastronomic place after all.

The tablet remained silent next to Leslie onto the package. The navigation still pointed towards this very place and Leslie wondered how long it would stay like that. Strangely enough the tablet had not even once urged him to stop his meal breaks or sleep in a B&B and hit the road again. The next destination had been on the tablet immediately after finishing either of that but never before. It verged on a miracle, Leslie thought.

He drummed the fingers of his left hand on the table surface and looked outside. A few cars drove by, an elderly couple and a woman speaking into a mobile phone walked by. It was a peaceful scenery. And Leslie thought about Maud.

"Do you have something to eat, too?" he asked politely when the barman came back and slammed down the apple spritzer.

He grunted. "Nah, we're a pub."

"Totally fine." Leslie replied and smiled. And the barman wobbled away.

Leslie took a few sips of his drink to satisfy his thirst and sighed as he put the glass down again.

And jumped.

There was someone sitting in front of him. His face was concentrated but instantly became surprised and then apologetic.

"Oh, I am deeply sorry I boggled you, my friend."

Leslie gasped and went still before he belched.

"'m sorry, the sparkling," he said with a fist in front of his mouth.

The man in front of him smiled and it was like the sun rising. Leslie stared and slowly remembered where he had seen this man before.

"You're the man from the little village outside of London, three weeks ago!" he blurted out.

The man wrinkled his nose. "The very same. A. Z. Fell, my pleasure."

He stretched out his hand and Leslie shook it.

"Ah, I have been waiting for you, Mister Fell! Well, I have been driving for you, respectively," he added with a wink, proud of his little joke.

The man laughed, his hands clasped in front of his well-worn undercoat. Leslie immediately felt uplifted, his sore muscles eased and his aching forehead suddenly felt light and cool. No pain anymore. He felt like having had a nice long relaxing sleep inside his own bed. He sighed quietly and took another sip of his drink.

"Ah, a very nice place we're meeting at," Mister Fell said with a smile. "It really winds one down."

Leslie nodded and wondered how the man could possibly know his sudden easing.

"And it seems I have to apologize to you once again, my friend." Now the man looked a little bit embarrassed. His eyes wrinkled and his mouth twitched. There was so much motion in this face, all the time. With clothing like this, Leslie wondered if he was an actor. It would fit, Leslie developed further, as he surely had to move around the whole country. Now that made sense. The poor man surely had so much to do. So many roles. He wondered which role he impersonated right now. Or trained for, respectively. Such devotion was truly admirable.

"I made you wait for me long enough. I hope your drive to this place wasn't too unpleasant?"

Leslie smiled widely, straightened his back and then his shirt with his palms, and shook his head. "No, Sir, no worries. I can truly understand that you must be a busy man with having to be all over the country, all at once, it seems - so, don't be bothered with the changing delivery spots."

Leslie regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. He shouldn't have said such offensive whining, not even jokingly. Shame bubbled inside him and was multiplied when Mister Fell looked completely baffled.

Leslie thought of a dozen ways and words to apologize, mind racing, while watching worriedly the other man shift inside his chair.

"What do you - I didn't know you had to - you drove all over the country?" The man asked, aghast.

Leslie felt searing heat on his face. "I am deeply sorry, Sir, I didn't mean to offend you, Sir," he rushed out in one breath. "Of course, no problem with that, you know, Sir, that was just a silly joke of mine..."

The man waved his hand dismissively but not in a authoritative way. "What do you mean exactly with changing delivery spots?"

Now it was Leslie's turn to shift uncomfortably in his chair. "Well, I- I figured you had to change my destinations for the last one and a half weeks for, you'd know, business or something," he said quietly, now very unsure with his words.

Mister Fell blinked. "You've been driving for one and a half week nonstop through the country?" he asked with a squeak.

Leslie stilled, then nodded, embarrassed.

"Oh my. You poor man." Mister Fell looked deeply compassionate and apologetic.

"So it wasn't you who gave the orders?" Leslie asked before he could stop himself. He knew it was not his place to ask such things, and normally they did not interest him the slightest, but this was different somehow. He could not name it.

"No," the other man stated, blinking and scrunching up his nose in a contemplating manner. "I, too, had merely some enigmatic orders that..." he trailed off. He shook his head.

"Well, what a strange situation, isn't it?" Leslie tried to lift the atmosphere with a light chuckle. And it worked. The other man smiled again. Leslie picked up his tablet. "I need your signature here, Sir," he said warmly and waited for Mister Fell to pick up the tablet pen and sign an calligraphic - even to say artistic - name under the form.

Leslie swiped a few times on the tablet between them after Mister Fell put down the pen again. "You know, Sir, the route I drove looks like a pair of lungs to me," he said conversationally and let the other man have a look on the maps showing the route. The right part of the picture it formed ran from London up to Cambridge, then to the East to the coast - Lowestoft - and from there Southwest back to London. The other, left part ran from the same starting point - London - up to Northampton, then Southwest to Winchester, and from there to Ottershaw, connecting the line nearly back to London.

Mister Fell looked motionless at the map, a few seconds ticked by.

"No..." he said lowly. "It- It looks like a pair of... angel wings."

Leslie frowned and glanced at the maps from his upside-down view. He crooked his head and hummed. "Oh, yes. Could also resemble that," he cheered.

Somehow, the other man wasn't very happy about that. He looked in Leslie's eyes. _Blue maritime water,_ shot through Leslie's mind. "My dear friend, I am truly sorry for the terrible circumstances you had to endure. This," he gestured at the route, "is quite an effort."

Leslie tapped the batch on his breast. "No, Sir, really. No need to worry. It is my job to do and I really like it, you can believe me." He smiled, but Mister Fell eyed him doubtfully.

"Anyway, here is your package, Sir." Leslie broke the eye contact and put the carton on the table between them. Maybe he should not have done that. Mister Fell was not visible across the table anymore. The other guests in the pub looked at them over their beers with hunched backs and confused eyes. Some of them were disapproving.

Mister Fell did not seem to notice the glances but put his hands around his package and nodded towards the entrance. "I think it is better we head out first," he said matter-of-factly. He stood up.

Leslie struggled to get his purse out of his trousers. "Oh, yes, of course! - but - uhm - I need to pay first..."

Mister Fell winked at him and smiled. "Already taken care of, no worries."

Leslie stopped his motions and hurried to follow the surprisingly fast man outside, the tablet in his hand.

"Are you sure my drink has been paid for?" Leslie forced himself to ask after they had stepped outside into the low sun.

"Completely, my friend."

Leslie decided to trust the strange but somehow warmhearted and therefore strange man. "Uhm, thank you, Sir, I suppose."

"You're very welcome. That is the least I can do for you."

They stopped in front of the van and Mister Fell ripped open the package with his bare hands. Ripped was not the right word; his movements were rather delicate, and the carton slit open with neatly rims.

And out into the warm summer sunlight a sword sheath rose. The look on Mister Fell's face was complicated as he inspected the object with skilful hand movements. Leslie watched him and understanding dawned on him. His face went slack.

"That sword..." he muttered, "Impossible. I've delivered it to the red-haired lady in Africa..."

"You got it back from me in the night three weeks ago on that bus bench," Mister Fell explained quietly. "And now it got back to me." He inspected it horizontally with both hands as if he was going to make a sacrifice.

"What a strange world we're living in," Leslie said dazedly and gazed to the man in front of him who now slit the sword out of its sheath. It blinked in the sunlight and basked Mister Fell's face and white hair in an miraculous light, creating a halo around his head.

 _An angel_ , Leslie thought breathlessly; and suddenly felt very stupid.

"Sir," Leslie began. Mister Fell tilted his head towards him in a listening manner. "Sir, I saw the red-haired woman with the very same sword down in Africa. She seemed so careless in a very tense situation and got _delighted_ by a weapon like this amongst guns all around her. I've never met a woman like her, and I frankly have to say, I was deeply scared after this encounter." He took a moment to catch his breath and smiled. "But it seems that you, Sir, are an expert with handling with swords. May I ask where you le- aaaargh!"

Leslie screamed as the sword suddenly burst out in flames.

In literal flames.

The man did not seem to be impressed or intimidated. He eyed the weapon with cautious and skilled movements. The blade and the licking flames on it swished lightly whenever he changed the angle.

Leslie stabilized himself with his free hand against the side of the van, and took a few breaths.

"Wow!" he chuckled and gestured to the flames. "Amazing! What pyrotechnics can do nowadays!" He shook his head lightly.

Mister Fell looked at him and seemed a bit taken aback. His stoic face suddenly became full of motion again, just as Leslie had come used to.

"Oh, yes. Pyrotechnics!" he exclaimed and the flames vanished. The blade had not a single sooty stain. It was as bright and smooth as before. Leslie was impressed.

"So, where to head now, Sir?" he asked as Mister Fell put the sword back into its sheath and fumbled with it. "Can I take you anywhere? Back to London?"

"That would be splendid, my dear friend."

Later, when Leslie had opened the door to his house, had welcomed his wife Maud and had started to sort his keys and wallet, he'd find the wallet baggy and heavy.

He was deeply surprised to find three months of wage in precisely concertinaed bank notes.

* * *

  
Shielded from the light rain outside the power swayed through the bookshop, quietly, outlasting. It filled the paperwork and books, let the leaves of the plants swing in the soft breeze it brought with it. The orchid on the windowsill lolled into the embrace. And from one of the buds a blossom appeared, slowly tucking out the petals to examine the world of papers and ink and a demonic aura. It was different to the other clean white blossoms it bore.

It had the colour of rich red wine.

Or blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [What Leslie and Aziraphale saw on the tablet](https://www.google.de/maps/dir/London,+Vereinigtes+K%C3%B6nigreich/Cambridge,+Vereinigtes+K%C3%B6nigreich/Lowestoft,+Vereinigtes+K%C3%B6nigreich/London,+Vereinigtes+K%C3%B6nigreich/Northampton,+Vereinigtes+K%C3%B6nigreich/Winchester,+Vereinigtes+K%C3%B6nigreich/Ottershaw,+Vereinigtes+K%C3%B6nigreich/@51.7468739,-0.9368772,8z/data=!4m54!4m53!1m5!1m1!1s0x47d8a00baf21de75:0x52963a5addd52a99!2m2!1d-0.1277583!2d51.5073509!1m10!1m1!1s0x47d85d89f32a012d:0x63a320e1a35e3d21!2m2!1d0.121817!2d52.205337!3m4!1m2!1d1.0928057!2d52.3538818!3s0x47d9bf59afb2a2e3:0xa5dd2b7add286b7!1m10!1m1!1s0x47da032d0bb1a84d:0xa65c41c1d8577798!2m2!1d1.753449!2d52.481138!3m4!1m2!1d0.9011401!2d51.9248773!3s0x47d9042fa5c884f7:0xb9895152a34118b1!1m5!1m1!1s0x47d8a00baf21de75:0x52963a5addd52a99!2m2!1d-0.1277583!2d51.5073509!1m5!1m1!1s0x487704236e4aa273:0xcdf495d0d9e86209!2m2!1d-0.902656!2d52.240477!1m5!1m1!1s0x487405528df97463:0x67a4865d66a8eda1!2m2!1d-1.310142!2d51.059771!1m5!1m1!1s0x487677a538e09d8f:0x5fadfe5a6be0f3f7!2m2!1d-0.530302!2d51.3633979!3e0)  
> I don't know what Ottershaw really looks like - so I am sorry to everyone who knows the place and got it all wrong. Imagine it as a nice little fantasy village (just like Tadfield).  
> 
> 
> Let me know what you think! I welcome every comment!

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of love to my beta [theangryuniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryuniverse) (niemand ist so wie du :))


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